Morning, Noon and Night
by augiesannie
Summary: It was the most important day in their lives. From the time the sun came up until the moon shone over the gazebo, here's the story of that day, told from Georg's and Maria's points of view, with lots of flashbacks sharing my take on how they fell in love. Well-worn territory, but I liked writing it and I hope you enjoy reading it. More chapters coming soon!
1. Chapter 1: Georg's morning

**A/N: I love so many SOM stories on this site, but from when I first started reading them, they always inspired me to think about my own view of the characters and how their story might have unfolded. While I have many other story ideas, this is the one I feel I have to get out, even if everyone else is tired of retelling the story. I am standing on the shoulders of many other wonderful stories and authors and thank them for their inspiration. It took me so long to write this story because I kept learning so much from the others about how to write dialogue and use description. Obviously I have a long way to go! But for now, enjoy. Disclaimer: I don't own the Sound of Music or anything about it.**

Chapter 1: Georg's morning

The glare of the mid-morning sun streaming through the windows pierced through the fog of sleep, but Georg tried his best to ignore it and escape back into dreamless slumber. Most mornings, he was awake and instantly alert well before dawn, a habit formed by many years of disciplined military life. He usually dressed quickly, moving purposefully through the house while its inhabitants still slept.

This morning, though, he had apparently slept late, and yet he was still dazed with fatigue. He could hear his children's voices from the terrace below, and the sounds of his household all around him – sounds that aggravated the throbbing in his head. But worse than his headache, worse than the glaring light, than his dry throat and aching muscles, was the vague feeling of – sadness? regret? loss? dread? Georg von Trapp was no stranger to these feelings, but he was quite expert at overcoming them, pushing them away, conquering them with characteristic determination. He had become a naval hero precisely because he was able to stay in control, to overcome feelings of fear, pain and grief that would have overwhelmed another man. In the space of a few years, he had lost the work he loved and the love of his life. _The key to surviving,_ he had often told himself, _was to move – to stay ceaselessly active, to appear purposeful even when life seemed to offer no purpose at all_.

Reluctantly, Georg opened his eyes to discover that he was not in his nightclothes and not in his bed, for that matter. Still wearing last night's evening clothes, he was sprawled on the leather sofa in his study, an empty bottle of whiskey on the table next to him. That explained the headache and the soreness, but he could not quite reconstruct the previous evening's events, nor identify the source of his disturbed feelings. It had been a long time since he had drunk himself into a stupor, trying to numb himself, to outrun the tidal wave of grief that had threatened to overwhelm him when Agathe died.

Venturing out of the room and up the back stairway, he reminded himself, firmly, "_those days are behind me. I am the only parent left to my children, and I will not hide from them, not in Vienna, and not in the bottle"._ Whatever had happened the previous evening, whatever was on his mind, he would confront and conquer it. _Move_, he told himself. Get _moving_. He needed to give himself a good talking-to, that was all. The kind he had received all too often from the little governess, until her departure a week ago. She'd been possibly the only resident of the von Trapp villa who did not shrink from his dark moods, who could not be silenced by the sharp words he used to keep the world at bay.

Safely locked behind the doors to his master bedroom, heavy drapes blocked the morning light and outdoor sounds, but his thoughts about Fraulein Maria still shadowed him as he shaved and dressed for the day. From the day he'd returned from Vienna two months ago, when she'd given him the kind of dressing-down he hadn't received since his days as a young lieutenant, he had come first to respect her and later, to enjoy her company, _perhaps a bit too much_, he admitted to himself. Her candor, the way she spoke her mind, her wholehearted enthusiasm for anything she loved, - Austria, music, his children, Cook's strudel – all were a refreshing change from the political hypocrisy and hidebound aristocracy that surrounded him. In her own way, she was as brave as any naval hero: although she wouldn't reveal much about her past, it was clear that she'd been born into humble circumstances. She was unembarrassed when Gretl had to teach her which fork to use at dinner, and unflustered by Franz's continuing condescension. This unsophisticated, naïve young woman had fought ferociously for his children, even when he'd given up trying. She'd stuck up for them from the evening he met her.

His eyes fell on a black satin pouch tucked away in his drawer. A gift put aside in anticipation of Liesl's seventeenth birthday, a small thing that told a story about the way the young governess had changed their lives. Fraulein Maria had knocked on the door of his study one evening, a few weeks after his return from Vienna, a familiar look in her eyes: apprehension that she was going to ask him something he wasn't going to like, mixed with resolve that she would do the right thing by his children, no matter the cost.

"Captain . . . it's about Liesl."

"Yes, Fraulein," he grimaced. He could already tell he wasn't going to like it.

"Captain, it's her birthday next month, and you know, well . . . she's at the age where, she wants, well, certain things. . . she wants to know if she can have - "

"Whatever it is she wants, she's too young for it, Fraulein. Her infatuation with that messenger boy - and yes, I know all about that, but I trust you are dealing with it - is already beyond her years. What is it now? A ball gown?" He shook his head.

"No, sir. It's, well, it's jewelry."

"Jewels?" His eyebrows lifted. "Have you been discussing jewels with my daughters, Fraulein? Educating them, perhaps, on the merits of diamonds from Africa versus, perhaps, rubies from India? Or sapphires? Which is your favorite?" There was just something so amusing about this simply dressed, barely civilized nun-in-training pleading for _jewelry_, for heaven's sake. He caught himself: "I'm sorry, Fraulein, I did not mean to be unkind. I, uh . . . "

With uncharacteristic dignity, Fraulein Maria interrupted, "Captain. She wants to have a piece of your . . . I mean, her mother's jewelry."

For just a moment, it felt as though her words had been a blow that struck him squarely in the chest. Agathe was hardly the typical overindulged heiress. She cared little for ostentatious displays of wealth or fashion – one of many things he admired about her - but she cherished the gifts he bought her from his travels around the world. Those treasures were in England now, not only for safekeeping against the troubles he feared would engulf Austria, but also so that he did not have to see them, did not have to reflect bitterly on the loss of his greatest treasure of all.

" Captain? I don't think she would wear it anywhere, I mean, of course you are right that she is too young to dress up, I just thought that, well. . . I mean, that kind of thing was not important to me when I was a girl, but Liesl has grown up under very different circumstances and . . . I know it must be difficult to see her grow up, to become a lovely young woman like your . . . I mean, her mother, but none of us can stop time, and . . . "

Would she never stop her incessant rambling? And worse, would her rambling always cut so close to th truth? Having avoided his children for so long, it was painful to realize that Liesl was almost grown . "Of course, Fraulein. I understand," he interrupted, stiffly. "Her, er, the jewels are not in Austria. They are elsewhere, and the less you or anyone else knows about that, the better. Tell Liesl that I will find an . . . appropriate way to honor her request." The little governess flashed him a smile that mixed gratitude, relief, and something else . . . some kind of sympathy? understanding? He'd written to his mother-in-law in England who had sent back a simple gold chain, something Agathe had owned as a girl herself. _Keep moving, _he reminded himself. _You cannot buy back those four years when you ran from your children._

That was so like the young Fraulein – standing up for the children, teaching him how to love them again. She'd held her own negotiating with him over the children's clothing, their education, their leisure time activities. Although her methods were unorthodox, there was no denying she got results – the children were thriving in every way. She seemed to have an intuitive understanding of the things that really mattered to him: that his children learn to think for themselves, love literature, music and their homeland, and treat the people around the with respect. Georg maintained a healthy skepticism about the aristocracy he'd been born into, and was grateful for the way the little governess helped his children navigate its rules without herself becoming a slave to them.

He had seen her confidence waver only once, that terrible evening of the ball one week ago. She had carefully seen to every detail of the children's appearance, glowing at his compliment: "They would have done the Emperor himself proud, Fraulein." But she herself seemed uneasy in her lovely but simple dress, lingering in the shadows of the party. He wandered restlessly among the guests, disturbed by Zeller's obvious popularity among his pandering countrymen. Only later did he wonder whether the rumors about his impending engagement had reached her.

As a master strategist, he should have seen disaster coming as it did, after a summer during which he found himself seeking her company far more often, and, if he were honest with himself, thinking of her less appropriately, than he should have. He should never have broken protocol, and embarrassed her, by dancing with her in public. He did not even want to think about what passed between them during the long moments when they were lost in each other's eyes. She had looked terrified, in fact, ever since their dance had ended. But worst of all, he did nothing to protect her when Max set upon her, insisting that she join them for dinner. Trying to regain his characteristic composure, and to ignore the feelings that threatened to overwhelm him, Georg had shrugged off her obvious, if unspoken, plea for assistance. "You can join us if you want_,"_ he had said, carelessly, leaving it to an inexperienced girl to navigate terrain that was not only socially, but emotionally, treacherous. _"_We'll wait for you while you change_,"_ he'd added, coolly, as though he didn't know that she owned exactly three simple dresses, lovely as they were, but homemade from material he'd had purchased for her. No wonder she had fled back to the Abbey.

His thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock on the door. Franz. "Sir? Baroness Schrader asked me to send word that she's waiting for you in the drawing room."

_Elsa._ The fog lifted, and the events of the previous evening began to fall into place. He and Elsa had dined late, alone, on the terrace. Once again, she had pressed him about the state of their relationship. Although he couldn't recall the details of this specific conversation, it was well-traveled territory, so he knew it had gone like this: "Of course, Georg, no one will ever replace Agathe in your heart. And I know you want a good mother for your children. But darling, people have begun to talk. It's not fair to your children and it's not fair to me."

He knew, too, that she had hoped that the ball would be the perfect occasion to announce their engagement, that he had disappointed her terribly. He struggled to explain his reservations to her, but he hardly understood them himself. Their relationship had always been entertaining, keeping his mind and body _moving_, but somehow, since their return from Vienna, something had inside him had changed, had shifted like the wind dying down at the end of a storm. It was as though a knot within him was slowly loosening. He had started to hope for _more_, the way that his relationship with his children had grown into something _more _these last weeks – something he could reflect upon, and cherish even when at rest, in the quiet moments just before falling asleep. Since the evening of the ball, however, he was tired, tired of fighting, tired of hoping. He was well into his forties, a man who had already lost so much, whose beloved country was slipping away from him as well, and who apparently did not deserve to see it all restored to him. _Who am I_, he asked himself, _to earn a second chance at what so many men do not even experience even once_?

And so, last night, well into their third bottle of wine, he had relented. "All right, Elsa, how about Christmas time? The children will be on holiday from school and . . . " He ignored the fleeting look of disappointment on her face; undoubtedly she'd been hoping to be married more quickly and without seven young distractions in attendance, but he stood his ground. As the evening went on, though, he was more confused than content. He did not expect to feel the euphoria he'd felt when Agathe accepted his proposal eighteen years earlier, but he'd hoped, at least, to feel happy. He tossed down glass after glass of wine, trying to drink himself into a better mood. At one point, they'd quarreled about sending the children to boarding school. They parted quietly and, apparently, he'd retreated to his study to numb himself even further.

Georg shook off last night's gloom, finished tying his tie, and squared his shoulders purposefully. _So that explains this foul mood,_ he thought, as he went downstairs. Although Elsa had been the first person to make him laugh, to help him enjoy life again, he no longer felt that she was his savior, although he could not say why. But marrying her was what everyone expected. _It is the right thing to do_, he told himself . _You cannot expect to be swept away by the same feelings you had as a young bridegroom._ It was curious, perhaps, that he was going to remarry, yet felt not a hint of guilt about abandoning Agathe's memory; his love for Agathe seemed untouched by his current circumstances, as though Elsa were occupying some other corner of his life, but not his heart.

Entering the drawing room, he caught Elsa unawares as she looked out the French doors onto the terrace. As from a distance, he admired her cool beauty, her graceful elegance. Apparently _she_ harbored no lurking doubts. He wondered for a moment if she ever thought about Agathe, if Elsa suspected that his love for his first wife remained undiminished, if that bothered her at all. He sighed deeply, and Elsa turned from the window, looking elegant in lavender silk, and smiled. "Good morning, darling, let's get you some coffee."

"Elsa," he began, but she interrupted him.

"No, darling, please, let's not get into all that now. I have waited a long time for this day, Georg, and I'm terribly fond of you. I know . . . I know how important your children are to you, and I promise you I will try to be a good stepmother to them. Let's wait six months and then talk about boarding school. Liesl is getting close to the age where someone needs to oversee her entry into society, but there's time for that."

"All right, then, Elsa." He nodded, sighing. "That's decided." Although he felt, somehow, that nothing at all was really resolved.


	2. Chapter 2: Maria's morning

Chapter 2 Maria's morning

Maria watched the sun rise from the window of her small room at the Abbey. The morning light barely penetrated the dim interior of the small cell where she'd hidden away for a week. Once again, she had slept only fitfully on the small cot, her mind and body near complete exhaustion. Turning away from the window, her nightgown clinging to her sweat-soaked body, she fell to her knees on the hard stone floor and began doing the only thing she could think of to do: pray. She had been praying for hours on end, ever since her return to the Abbey one week before. She prayed for the seven children she had abandoned. She prayed for herself. She prayed for the sisters at Nonnberg.

But the memories of that miserable night kept intruding, no matter how hard she tried to push them away, crowding in on even her most fervent prayers. She did not know which memory was more painful: the few joyful, almost magical minutes of dancing with the Captain? Or his offhand treatment of her afterward, when he had not even mentioned the children's performance, and left her to fend off Max's persistent dinner invitation? What a cold contrast he had offered to the Captain who had complimented her on the puppet show just weeks earlier, who had welcomed her ideas about the children, who seemed almost to seize on any excuse to strike up a conversation, and who had made clear to any guest treated Maria disrespectfully that she was most definitely under his protection. And then – the shameful memory made her blush – there was Baroness Schrader's matter of fact, enlightening, but ultimately devastating description of the Captain's true interest in her.

"_He'll get over it soon enough I should think. Men do, you know. Of course, I don't believe the Captain – Georg," _the Baroness corrected herself, with a fond little smile – _"I don't believe he will ever, really, recover from the loss of his one great love. But men have their needs, and I suppose that even men whose hearts are spoken for can be, well, tempted to take advantage of a situation like this, with such a lovely young woman living under his nose. It won't last, my dear, you realize that? It would be a shame to distract you from . . . _she paused, a pause full of meaning . . . _well, Maria, I'm sure you'll make a very fine nun."_

Worse than all those humiliations, perhaps, was the memory of her last heartbreaking moments at the villa. Standing just inside the front door, she had glanced nervously toward the ballroom, where the guests were gathering for dinner, trying not to think of him, and then allowed herself one last, yearning look upward, toward the doorway that led to the children's wing. Could it have been only a few months since she first saw them dash through that door, dressed in identical uniforms, in response to their father's whistle? And could it really be that her glimpse of them not an hour ago, waving goodbye to the guests and disappearing behind that door, would be the last time she would ever see their sweet faces?

She could hardly remember the rest of the night. Maria had barely set out on the dark road back to Salzburg when clouds moved in overhead, and the skies opened up. It had turned out that thunderstorms could, indeed, be frightening after all. Two hours later, soaking wet, shivering, she arrived at Nonnberg with barely enough strength to ring the bell. When Sister Anna came to the gate, her eyes widened with shock, but she simply beckoned Maria in and scurried off to get help. It was the Mother Abbess herself who led Maria, docile as a child, to one of the individual cells, helped her dry off and change into a warm nightgown. Through chattering teeth, Maria tried to offer some kind of explanation, but the Mother Abbess said, gently, "Go to sleep, Maria. We can talk about this tomorrow." By now a week had passed, and Maria found herself still unable to speak a word aloud about her time at the villa.

_But how can I ever be ready to talk_? Maria wondered. _How can I begin to explain what happened, how many mistakes I made? _ _Not the mistakes of an unruly girl, sliding down banisters and climbing trees, but mistakes that brought shame on my reputation and likely the Abbey's, mistakes that hurt seven motherless children?_ _Dear God_, she prayed_. Forgive me. Forgive me for forgetting that I was pledged to your service, that I allowed myself to lose sight of Your divine will, for being shameless enough to allow myself to be ruled by lust_ (was it lust? She was not sure about that, having had so little experience with these things, but she understood _his_ motives well enough, now). _Forgive me for losing sight of my true purpose – to prepare those children for their new mother. Instead, out of vanity and selfish pride, I allowed them to come to depend on me, to love me, only to abandon them._

She heard a soft knock on the door. Tugging it open, Maria expected to find on the hallway floor a tray with a cup of milk and a few slices of bread, the same breakfast that had been there every morning. But today, there was Sister Margarethe holding the tray, her dear, kind face radiating concern and love, bustling into the small cell that could barely hold them both. "Maria, my child, you have hardly touched the food we have left for you. Whatever happened . . . whatever is bothering you . . . please, my child, won't you tell me? Or if you wish, won't you go to confession?"

Maria shook her head, and looked down at the floor, silent. She did not even know where to begin.

Sighing, Sister Margarethe put down the tray. "I hope your prayers bring you comfort, Maria. And – should you wish to do something with your hands, something to take your mind off things, I have brought a small basket of mending as well. You have always been such an active girl, I thought it might help you feel better to be . . . busy with something." She searched Maria's face for a moment, clearly worried by what she saw there, shook her head, and left.

When the door closed, Maria took a deep breath. Her mind, her heart, her very soul, were still in turmoil, and she reminded herself to keep breathing deeply, hoping that she might absorb the healing calm of the Abbey's stone walls. Idly, she wandered over to the tray, her eyes drifting to the basket of mending. Socks, thread, needles, scissors. _Perhaps keeping busy _will_ help_, she thought, rummaging through the basket. She closed her eyes to chase away memories of teaching the von Trapp girls to sew – they had been working on a quilt together, the little girls cutting out colorful squares, the older ones carefully stitching them together. What would happen to that quilt now? _Spoiled_, she thought, desolate, but angry at herself_. I ruined that quilt as certainly as if I had torn it apart, as if I had stained it with my conceit, my foolishness_. Maria's eyes fell on the scissors. Her hands went to her neck, running through the curls that had begun to grow there throughout the summer. _Vanity_, she thought. _You were secretly pleased when Liesl fussed over the way the sun played on those curls. What in heaven's name was a postulant doing growing her hair?_ Impulsively, Maria took the scissors to her curls, and with three or four deft snips, watched them fall to the floor. There was, of course, no mirror in the small, humble room, so she could not see the results of her work, but she felt better, somehow, having made this gesture of expiation.

How she longed to see the children even one more time! She felt an almost physical ache being separated from them, as though a part of her body had been severed. The two littlest girls were constantly climbing into her lap or throwing their arms around her, never suspecting that their caresses nurtured her as surely as she cared for them. Clever Brigitta, who was starting to come out from behind the shelter of her beloved books. Friedrich, who told the best stories about their mother to the younger ones, keeping her memory alive. Louisa, whose prickly demeanor was quickly forgotten when she opened her mouth to sing with the soprano of an angel. Kurt, who had every highlight of his father's military career memorized. And Liesl . . . Liesl, who had been forced to grow up so fast, to be the closest thing possible to a mother for her siblings, and was now reveling in being able to be a girl again. _No matter what I did wrong, I got through to those children, Lord, surely that counts in my favor?_

And then there was their father. His handsome face rose up before her, his dark eyes and tantalizing half-smile so real that she thought she might almost reach out and touch him. Despite the stuffy warmth of her cell, she shivered, remembering his breath on her cheek during the last moments of their dance. She tried to remind herself that the Captain was a difficult person, more difficult than any Mistress of Postulants. He was demanding, easily irritated, distracted by his guests and the bad news from Berlin and capable of scorching sarcasm - but even then, Maria noticed, he never barked at Frau Schmidt, or the children, the way he did at her, _as though he knew that I could handle it. _ _It was not my imagination that he treated me differently from the other servants, _ _I just did not understand why, until the Baroness explained it to me. I should be angry at him for his part in this,_ she thought, _for his dishonorable intentions. But somehow, I can't believe it. What the Baroness told me makes sense and yet . . . it does not. _Perhaps because she'd been left to fend for herself from such an early age, Maria had always been a shrewd judge of character. She could see the good in the worst-behaved child, and behind the façade of the best; it was why she was such a good teacher and had so quickly found ways to connect to the von Trapp children. _Reverend Mother told me he was a fine man, and while at first I thought she was mistaken, the more I saw of him, the more I understood how true that was. _Were that deep blue gaze and tender half-smile really the face of evil?

Something besides anger and doubt flickered in Maria's heart as well, something she could barely name. Never had anyone looked at her the way he did that evening, during the last moments of their dance together. His eyes seemed to see all the way into her soul, to take possession of her. The world fell away, the music was silenced; she knew only the way their shoulders brushed, the feel of his hand on her waist. _Is this what people in love feel like?, _Maria wondered. _When the silly boys and girls I grew up with talked about love, was this what they meant?_ She had hardly been able to endure the intensity of his gaze, yet she could not look away until he did, at once disappointed and relieved when Baroness Schrader interrupted . .

"I am going mad," Maria whispered out loud, although only the stone walls heard her. "I have finally created a mess I cannot run away from."

Another soft knock at the door. "Maria," came Sister Margarethe's kind voice again. "I know you've asked not to be disturbed. But the Mother Abbess has asked to see you."


	3. Chapter 3: Georg's Afternoon

**A/N: Thank you all for the lovely reviews, either here or in the TSOM Fanfiction group on Facebook (which, if you like this story, you should join!) I love to hear from you in PMs too. I'm sorry for the delay, but it's harder than I expected to make sure that Georg and Maria's afternoons are consistent without completely repeating each other, and to pave the way for their coming together at night. I started working on this story wanting to explore some of the things about the film that bother me the most. And I wanted to play with the idea that it is not until much later in the story that either one of them really believes that there is a way for them to be together. That turned out to be tricky, and now I understand why so many stories have them be attracted to each other sooner rather than later. I also know this chapter is VERY long, and would need to be edited severely under normal circumstances, but I am getting the impression that for this group, more is better! Would you like more shorter chapters instead? Anyway, stay tuned for more chapters soon – I really like the way the Gazebo scene for this story is shaping up. And as always, I don't own the Sound of Music or anything about it.**

Chapter 3 Georg's Noon

Lunch turned out to be a gloomy affair. Remembering what life between governesses had been like before the little Fraulein's arrival, Georg had expected the children to be at their mischievous best, to be doing something involving snakes, perhaps, or mud. He'd been pleasantly surprised to learn from Frau Schmidt that they had gone to the classroom as usual in the morning and had completed their lessons, "as well as they could without . . . well, you know, sir, without Fraulein Ma . . . "

"Yes, yes," he hurriedly interrupted Frau Schmidt. "That's fine, that's just fine." Georg was taken aback when his children filed into the dining room for lunch, on time, clean and neatly dressed. He attempted to engage them in lunchtime conversation about their morning lessons, complimenting them on how mature and responsible they'd been to carry on without their Fraulein. But they were subdued, as they'd been in general since the ball. Only Kurt appeared to have any appetite. Even Elsa must have been concerned about them, offering to play a game with her after lunch. Georg saw the children exchange uneasy glances. Marta blurted, "But we were going to . . ." before Friedrich hushed her. Brigitta hastily interjected, "Baroness, we'd just _love_ to play with you," and he could have sworn he saw Louisa lean over to pinch Marta for good measure. They obviously had other, possibly more questionable, plans for the afternoon.

Well, whatever it was they were plotting, it was good to see them _moving _ahead. There had been more than a few tears shed, and sleepless nights, in the week since their Fraulein had fled. He felt a flash of anger that she'd abandoned them that way, then a pang of fresh guilt at the role he'd obviously played by treating her so coldly at the ball. Putting down his napkin, ringing for Franz, and pushing away from the table, Georg excused himself to attend to paperwork, leaving Elsa to get better acquainted with his children and hoping for the best.

His first order of business, then: a new governess. There were still months to go before the wedding when the children would need looking after, and he had no illusions in any case that Elsa would ever devote herself to mothering the way Agathe had. He sat at his desk, pen poised to write a letter, but where to turn? Georg had learned the hard way that highly trained child development experts were helpless going up against his children. And after now _twelve _failed attempts, he'd be unlikely to find any more governesses by word of mouth. He'd thought he'd been so clever to look to Nonnberg this last time; surely if anyone could control his children, it would be one of the iron-backboned sisters. Things had not worked out that way exactly, as the Abbey appeared to have sent him one of their less promising prospects. Georg smiled despite himself, thinking, _Things had worked out well, nonetheless. _

But the Nonnberg option would not be open to him again, as was clear from the chilly reception he'd received from the Reverend Mother when he called to inquire about Maria the day after the ball. It was at the children's insistence that he'd called, he said, although he had been as frightened as they had, perhaps. The Reverend Mother assured him, brusquely, that Maria was, indeed, safe, but had asked not to be disturbed for any reason. "And that, Captain, is that. Captain . . . " Her voice trailed off.

"Yes, Reverend Mother?" he prompted, hoping she had more information to share.

"Nothing, nothing at all. As I said, that is that. Good day," she said, briskly, and ended the call.

So. That was that, indeed. In any event, he no longer wanted an iron-backboned Nonnberg sister. He wanted – he knew what he wanted. He wanted Fraulein Maria . . . for the _children's_ sake, of course.

His thoughts flew back to Maria - _when did I start thinking of her by her first name, for heaven's sake? - _ thoughts he seemed to be having a harder and harder time controlling, oddly enough, now that he had made the decision to marry Elsa _not that the two are connected,_ he hastily reminded himself. And in fact - he admitted it - the little governess unsettled him from the day she arrived. Georg had expected a battle-hardened elderly nun and never quite recovered from his first confrontation with a fresh-faced, charming if, well, rough-around-the-edges young woman. Drawing on his years of experience as a military commander, he adopted the icy, almost arrogant demeanor that assured his superiors, his men and the enemy that he knew exactly what he was doing, even as he pondered his next move – in her case, on that first day, his escape to Vienna. She seemed unafraid of him, but he took that as a promising sign: perhaps _she_, unlike the others before her, would be tough enough to bring his children under control.

After his return from Vienna, when she had set things right between him and the children, he was mildly surprised to find himself attracted to her. No woman, even Elsa, had tempted him physically since Agathe's death. But Maria was, after all, an attractive young woman, with a lithe body - even though she tried to hide it in baggy nightclothes or boxy antique bathing costumes - an angelic voice, and clear blue eyes that seemed to look straight into his soul.

One evening, Georg walked by the dimly-lit nursery and, glancing in, stopped dead at the sight of a young woman, her face in the shadows, humming softly, gently rocking Gretl back to sleep after a bad dream. For a moment he thought it might have been . . . but no, it was the young governess, swathed in her usual layers of flannel, her face soft and open. He could not tear his eyes away from the beautiful sight, but after a minute, feeling as though he was spying on her, he cleared his throat softly. "Fraulein?"

"Captain, I'm so sorry, did Gretl disturb you?"

"No, no, of course. I was walking by and I thought . . that is . . . er, nothing," he fumbled.

"I think she'll sleep now," Maria whispered, shifting in the chair , struggling against its rocking motion to come to her feet bearing Gretl's full weight.

"Here, let me help you," he said, and as he reached out to take Gretl, his arms collided with Maria's head as she rose. His hands brushed her hair, his fingers unable to resist the temptation to entwine themselves into the golden silk for just a moment.

There was barely more than a moment's awkwardness, however; he snatched his hands away, and the little governess turned bright red, thrust her charge into his arms, choked out a hasty, "Good night, Captain," and fled for the safety of her room, presumably. He stood, stunned for a moment, holding his sleeping daughter, trying to recapture whatever it was he had just felt, to hold on to the moment's sweetness.

Still, he told himself, there was nothing to feel guilty about. Georg allowed himself the luxury of being charmed, even bewitched, by Maria, despite her vocation. She was probably too young and naïve to guess at the thoughts running through his head. What harm could come of it? Unlike many of his peers, he was an honorable man in this respect: he might take notice of an attractive young governess, but he would never act on it, and in any event, he knew that he had buried the truly passionate side of himself along with Agathe. And she was not _yet_ a nun, he told himself, so there was nothing improper about his fascination with her.

Almost every day, Georg found himself wondering whether life as a cloistered nun would really fit this young woman with a huge heart and an untamed spirit, but he felt safer, somehow, knowing that she would end up right back at Nonnberg where she belonged. Maria was a convenient distraction, that was all. So what if he found himself seeking her out more often than strictly necessary? And her appeal was not merely physical – her joyful optimism, her simple goodness, her love for nature, her appreciation for the music he loved so much, the firm yet compassionate way she taught his children, even her hearty laugh and her unapologetic love for dessert– all of these seemed to light up a world that seemed increasingly dark and unsafe. She was full of surprises:

"Fraulein," he said one morning at breakfast, "I would like you to prepare a list of the reading materials you have selected for the children." Having awakened, as out of a long sleep, to find his children of school age, he wanted to make sure they would share their parents' love for reading, and he feared their education might have suffered for four long, neglectful years.

She looked perplexed for a moment, but quickly shrugged her agreement, and brought the list to his study an hour later. He motioned her to a chair while he seated himself at his desk, scowling, prepared to do battle over her choices, but he was taken aback: the list was thoughtfully curated, representing the major European literary traditions and genres, with choices even for the youngest children that would lay a strong foundation for their future educations.

His face must have registered his surprise, because she jumped from her chair. Leaning over his desk, blue eyes flashing, she lectured him – he half-expected her to shake a fist in his face! "Captain, I am a _trained teacher_. I've been a voracious reader since I was a little girl. I realize I did not grow up with the . . . the _advantages _that your children have, but good books are fortunately a blessing that are available to everyone." She paused, lifting her chin at him; although she intended to intimidate him, he thought he detected a hint of hurt feelings beneath.

"I apologize, Fraulein. I'm very impressed, really, and I meant no disrespect." He sighed. Somehow he seemed to be apologizing to this young woman every time he turned around, he a man who had exercised the firmest, unwavering control over entire naval brigades, for whom an apology was a rare admission of defeat.

"Oh, that's all right, sir," she said, her face crinkling into a smile. "The truth is, the sisters encouraged me to use the library at the Abbey, I think because it was the only place they knew I couldn't get into trouble."

But in her own way, she was as private a person as he was. The children often interrogated her about her plans to become a nun: "When did you first know? Fraulein, why do you want to be a nun when you like to sing and play games and break rules? Fraulein Maria, don't you want to fall in love and get married and have children like us?" She would become visibly uneasy and quickly change the subject.

For such a private person, though, she certainly was unembarrassed about prying into _his_ past. Early in her time at the villa, he quickly put her in her place when she asked her nosy questions about his childhood – "how did _you_ spend summers as a child, Captain? Did _you_ do schoolwork every day?" Eventually, hoping to silence her, he'd calmly offered the truth - that he'd been shipped to year-round boarding school when he was barely Marta's age – and took a perverse pleasure in her horrified reaction.

But her interest in everything was so genuine that it was hard to keep his distance. One evening, she asked him about an ivory carving that stood on a table in the drawing room; he answered, curtly, that he had bought it in India. "India! How wonderful! I have always wanted to go there! Is it true that people ride elephants there? What is the food like? Did you see the Taj Mahal?" There seemed to be no end to her interrogatory yammering, yet before he knew it, he'd spent an enjoyable hour regaling her (_and_ the children, of course) with stories of that voyage, making him shamefully late for an engagement with Elsa.

From then on, he found himself comfortably answering her questions about his boyhood and his early career, and their conversations seemed to refresh his spirit and reconnect him with the best years in his life. They never discussed Agathe – her memory stood between them like a wall – but still, from these conversations with the little Fraulein, Georg was beginning to discover that he could, indeed, _move on_, could safely look back on his past with pleasure, rather than pain and regret.

As their encounters became warmer and more frequent, he tried to ignore the signs that _she_ might, perhaps, be infatuated with him. That evening when she cajoled him into picking up a guitar for the first time in four years . . . admittedly, he had looked to her first, seeking her approval, but he was caught off guard by the adoration written across her face, and equally unprepared for how much he basked in it, how charming she looked in her simple blue dress, her eyes glowing, her cheeks flushed.

But just as Georg expected that his short-lived infatuation would flicker away when she returned to Nonnberg, _surely_ she would forget him quickly as well?

Georg worried, too, that their innocent flirtation – for surely that's all it was, hardly anything more than an unlikely friendship – would not go unnoticed. Max noticed first, of course, a keen observer of these things. "You are playing with fire," Max had warned him that evening, "You have never been the type to woo the help, Georg, and certainly not help that is planning to be a _nun_, for heaven's sake!" Georg had tried to brush Max away with an ineffective mix of outrage and nonchalance that fooled neither of them.

Elsa, too, had noticed _something_ that evening – there was that awkward moment between the three of them after the puppet show _when I was really just trying to thank my governess, for heaven's sake_, he thought irritably. After that evening, Georg frequently felt the weight of Elsa's gaze on him as he tried - struggled, actually - to maintain a formal, correct tone with Maria. Somehow, away from the villa, he could be as warmly attentive as ever to Elsa, shamelessly flirting with her, showering her with presents, truly enjoying her company. But when they were in Aigen, he felt a gap growing between them. Still, he had brought Elsa to Salzburg to meet his children, and he was determined to push away his doubts and follow through with his plan to marry her, to give his children a mother. He gave into her plans for the ball, despite his uneasiness, in part because he knew the summer was not turning out quite the way Elsa had hoped. Georg began to understand that Elsa had saved him from his grief by helping him hide from it, in Vienna, where no memories of Agathe lingered. In the end, though, it was coming home, confronting his grief, finding a way to love his children, that had truly healed him, made it possible for him to _move_ forward.

In the weeks before the ball, Georg had been having more and more trouble chasing thoughts of Maria away. It was when he spent time with her and the children – Elsa rarely joined them at these times, instead shopping, napping, or visiting friends – that were, paradoxically, the most dangerous. Unlikely as it seemed, things with the little governess had crossed the line into dangerous territory in full sight of all seven of his children, and if Maria was too inexperienced to know it, then he did. That evening at the ball, holding her in his arms, he felt the stirrings of something he thought long-dead. For the first time, he felt the force of it: he wanted her – not just for conversation or amusement, not just for inspiration or encouragement, but in his bed. He was simultaneously horrified and elated.

But this time, the old trick of appearing distant and in control while considering his options had backfired. Undoubtedly distressed by his behavior before dinner, Maria had fled. He felt ashamed and guilty, and could only hope that she would be able to get on with her life, that he had not hurt her beyond repair.

And – perhaps most disturbing - he was finding that his _own_ fascination with her was stubbornly refusing to fade. Georg had managed for more than a year to sleep soundly in the bed he and Agathe had shared. But for the last week, his sleep was filled with the kind of dreams he had not had since he was a very young man, shameful dreams in which a strangely familiar voice, the angelic voice of a young woman, called to him, imploring, begging really . . .

Startled, Georg realized, suddenly, that he _was_ hearing, faintly, the sound of . . . singing? It reminded him of the first time, weeks earlier, when he'd overheard the children singing. He'd followed the sound of their voices and it had changed his life for the better, more than he could ever have imagined. He had not heard his children sing since the evening of the ball, since Maria had left, and the sound now filled him with a mixture of hope and regret.

Abandoning any hope for progress on the governess front, Georg stepped onto the terrace. There, with Max crouched before them, the children were singing the same song they'd sung the day he'd returned from Vienna.

_The hills are alive_

_With the sound of music_

He was caught short by the way they sounded – listless, somber, a sound like someone about to weep. Georg sighed deeply and shook his head; although he knew from experience that children grieve differently from adults, his children were definitely grieving the loss of their Fraulein. Assuming a cheerful air that he did not feel, he strode toward them. "That's lovely, lovely, don't stop!" he encouraged them. He ignored Max's hasty excuses – the Festival was the least of his concerns right now – and made a quick decision: he would help his children _move on_. He would not let them wallow, just as he himself should not . . .

He tried to lighten the mood by joking about the lemonade, but his children were having none of it. For four years, they had been unable to take their troubles to their father, and now that they had learned to trust him, they wanted answers.

"Is it true that Fraulein Maria isn't coming back?" asked Brigitta.

"Yes, I suppose it's true, yes," Georg answered, his tone deliberately offhand, as though it were a matter of little consequence to any of them.

"She didn't even say goodbye," Louisa challenged.

"She did in her note," he said, sounding more curt than he intended. That note! Just six words, words whose meaning tormented him even now: "I'm sorry, I love you all." Georg had burned it before the children could see it, burned it in favor of his lame explanation that she had missed her life at the Abbey.

Louisa was not going to let go that easily: "That isn't the same thing." For one mad moment, he considered telling them the truth, "_Your Fraulein left you because I treated her shamefully, unforgivably, despite the fact that she gave you – gave us – everything her heart had to offer." _ But Gretl called him back before he could do anything so foolish, asking him who their new governess would be.

Georg took a deep breath. He put his hands on Elsa's shoulders - to reassure which of them he wasn't sure - and he broke the news to them: "You aren't going to have a governess any more. You're going to have a new mother."

_A new mother_. The words echoed in his head, their sound ricocheting in his hollow heart, and Georg knew at that moment, and with complete certainty, that he could not marry Elsa. Whatever he felt for Elsa, whatever bound them together, she was not the right person to be a mother to his children and _I have never loved her_ _ the way I loved Agathe. _

Elsa looked up at him, for reassurance he supposed, but he could not meet her eyes. He noticed, as from a distance, as though watching a play, his children doing the _right_ thing, the noble thing, Liesl leading them in welcoming Elsa to the family, the lot of them as brave and noble as any of them men he had commanded. He maintained his mask of cheerful optimism, but he could hardly bear it. Georg von Trapp was if nothing else, a man of honor. Yet he had failed to save his wife and the Austrian Navy. He had failed his children, he had failed Maria, and he had failed Elsa.

Georg shooed the children away and retreated to his study, collapsing in the big chair by the window. He had not felt so lost since Agathe's death. For only the second time in his life, he did not know what to do next. A man whose incisive mind and undaunted courage never failed him in battle, who could navigate a submarine through dark and treacherous waters, Georg could not see the path ahead. He knew he could not marry Elsa. He knew that neither he nor his children would ever forget the young Fraulein, but she was lost to them. _What now? I must move forward, but in what direction? _He sat and stared out at the lake, watching the sun move across the sky, so it must have been at least two hours later when Frau Schmidt knocked on the door. "Captain, I'm sorry to disturb you, but the children are missing. We've looked everywhere, the stables, the garden…"

"Missing?" They were not supposed to leave the grounds alone, for any reason. His mind raced. "I'll take the car and go…"

They were interrupted by Franz. "The children have returned, sir. They're on the terrace."

Georg didn't know whether to be angry or amused at his children's tale of an afternoon's berry-picking, but he was certainly reassured. He did not want them roaming the countryside alone during such dangerous times. But he knew perfectly well where they'd gone. He was proud of them – they had _moved_, they had tried to take action, even though they had apparently failed at their mission. In a corner of his mind, he wished they had been able to return with some news of Maria. He decided to let them off easily, and went inside to order a brief delay in dinner time.

Then, suddenly, he was brought up short for the second time that day by the sound of children singing from the terrace, but this time the sound was full and vibrant and joyful. He paused in the shadowy doorway and blinked once, twice, three times, at the sight of the little governess, her hair lit golden by the late afternoon sun, his children rushing into her arms, their voices rising straight up to the sky.

How many times had he lectured his men that, in battle, there are no second chances? Just last night, he'd agreed to marry Elsa, believing he would never have a second chance at the kind of happiness he'd had in his marriage. Yet here was a second chance, standing only yards away, an angel in an ill-fitting dress and a bad haircut. Despite her ungainly appearance, he was instantly reminded by that moment at the ball, before she'd broken away from him, the desire that had flared within him . . .

Maria moved closer, surrounded by the children, and their conversation drifted up toward him. "The most important thing is that Father's going to be married," said Brigitta, and he closed his eyes against the news, wincing for a moment at the mess he'd made of things. He lingered in the shadows a minute longer, hidden from view, trying to read Maria. But for the first time since he'd met her, her face was not an open book that told the world what she was thinking. She looked all at once bewildered, hurt perhaps, but also defiant and even a little angry.

_You do not know why she came back, _he warned himself, _it would be a mistake to read too much into her return. _ He suspected that she had been attracted to him, yes, and certainly they had shared a kind of companionship all summer, but then again she had run away from him, turned her back on the children. _Perhaps she cannot forgive the way I treated her at the ball. Perhaps she has returned only to make things right, to tell them about her plans to enter the novitiate in September? _Georg was entirely unsure what to do, how to feel. _Like navigating at night, through a dense fog_.

Georg squared his shoulders and stepped out of the shadows. He reminded himself that the last time he had hidden his chaotic feelings behind his characteristic icy mask, he had frightened Maria away. When the children noticed him standing at the top of the steps, he directed his greeting to Maria, evenly, carefully. He sent the children into dinner.

And then they were alone.

Cautiously, unsure how exactly to proceed, Georg questioned her, trying not to sound neither too familiar nor too angry, trying not to scare her: "You left without saying goodbye, even to the children."

"Please forgive me. I was wrong." Her face was unreadable.

"Why did you?, " he asked, not expecting much of a response, but simply stalling for time .

"Please don't ask me that. Anyway, the reason no longer exists," Maria met his eyes with her clear blue gaze, lifting her chin in a gesture he recognized as false bravado. He had to remind himself that, of course, she did not know that he had given up all thought of marrying Elsa – was it only a few hours ago? It seemed much longer.

And then, as though summoned by his thoughts, Elsa appeared by his side, taking his arm, greeting Maria with, he thought, just a touch too much warmth. He watched, dismayed, as Maria swallowed hard and offered them her best wishes. _What is she thinking?, _he asked himself. The gentleman in him chose not to shake off Elsa's arm. He tried, desperately, to think of a way to send Maria a message, to signal that there was unfinished business between them. "You are here to stay?" Georg asked.

"Only until another governess can be arranged." He heard the catch in Maria's voice, and he even thought - or did he just imagine it? - he saw her eyes fill as she turned away from them and ran up the stairs and into the house.

_She is suffering, _he knew, torn between guilt and hope. _She came back here for a reason._ _But perhaps it is only the thought of leaving the children that troubles her. No matter what she has decided, in her last days here, or even hours, I will try to make it up to her. Or will I do her more damage by following my instincts? Do I keep my distance instead?_

And Elsa. How would he make things up to her? Georg would be hurting her too, as soon as he could find a way to extricate himself. He patted her hand, distracted, as they turned toward the house. Her eyes searched his face, looking for an answer to a question she could barely bring herself to ask: "Georg? Darling? I know that girl has a crush on you, but . . . " She stopped, and began again, "Georg, you cannot possibly be thinking . . . there will be a scandal, think of your children, your family's reputation. Think of Agathe . . . "

He stopped dead in his tracks, his face stony and his voice turned to ice, "Elsa. This has _nothing_ to do with Agathe. Or perhaps, rather, it has a great deal more to do with Agathe, than it does you." He winced inwardly, knowing that he owed Elsa a great deal and he did not want to hurt her. He wanted to be a gentleman. But he would not tolerate the use of Agathe's memory as a weapon.

"Please, Georg," Elsa pleaded, in a voice he'd never heard her use before, not her usual carefree, light-hearted tone. "Please Georg, at least think about what you are doing. Wait a bit. Perhaps after the wedding….with some discretion . . "

He realized that she did not understand at all. "Elsa," he began , but she cut him off. Elsa was a canny strategist herself: she knew when to retreat.

"Georg, I will not have this discussion now. Dinner is being served and I have not even had a chance to change yet. We'll discuss it afterward."

Through the dining room doors, he saw his children, already at the table, politely waiting for them. _Very well,_ he thought. _But I will not sleep tonight until this is settled. _


	4. Chapter 4: Maria's Afternoon

**A/N: Thanks again for all the lovely reviews, and for sticking with me through such long chapters! In this chapter, I struggled a bit with the titles "Mother Abbess" versus "Reverend Mother," but I settled on using the second as a form of address and the first as a description of her role. **

**And do you think I've gone too far by letting Maria even **_**consider**_** what it would be like to give into him? Please review – even if only a word or two – the Gazebo chapter is turning out to be a lot of work and I could use the encouragement. Once again, I don't own the Sound of Music or anything about it.**

Chapter 4 Maria's Afternoon

Maria stepped aside to let a new postulant leave before entering the Mother Abbess' office. The girl was on her way to the robing room, undoubtedly. _Could it have been only a few months since I was a girl like that, putting on someone else's discarded clothes? Since I left here, singing at the top of my lungs, full of hopeful excitement about my little adventure? I feel a hundred years older, much sadder, and no wiser_.

She promised herself that she would divulge as little as possible to Reverend Mother about her time at the villa: not about the Captain, the Baroness, even the children. She couldn't bear to talk about any of them, as though talking about them aloud would make their loss unavoidably real. _I loved those children, and they loved me. I loved living at the villa. I let myself love their father, and even worse, I let myself believe that he loved me. _ She would simply say that she missed the Abbey and was anxious to take her vows as soon as possible. Certainly a long-cloistered nun, even the Mother Abbess herself, would not be able to guess at Maria's predicament, would not be able to see through her.

Alas, the Mother Abbess' kind greeting, and a gentle question or two, were all it took. Even after everything that had happened, Maria could still not lie to anyone. She heard herself admitting truth after truth, the tears rising to the surface, her voice thickening with emotion , "…I was confused. I – I've never felt that way before. I knew that I'd be safe here…" and then, finally: "I can't face him again."

"Are you in love with him?"

"I don't know. I don't know!" Maria burst out, in agony, tears of anguish beginning to fall. "The Baroness said I was. She said…" Maria hesitated. Whatever she was feeling, she could not possibly tell Reverend Mother the sordid truth, what she had learned from the Baroness about the Captain's true interest in her. And how could she admit that, even now, she was still as tempted by the Captain as she was repelled by the situation? She would surely be sent away from the Abbey, and she had nowhere else to go.

Choosing her words carefully, Maria quickly edited her sad story: "She said he was in love with me," she told Reverend Mother, taking a small, pitiful moment's pleasure in saying the words out loud. " Oh, there were times when we would look at each other…. Oh Mother, I could hardly breathe!" It was a relief, after all, to talk about her feelings for the Captain out loud, to unburden herself. "That's what's been torturing me. I was there on God's errand. To have asked for his love would have been wrong. I'm ready at this moment to take my vows."

Maria turned away, toward the fireplace, so that Reverend Mother could not see the complete truth, the rest of it, in her eyes. For Maria was not telling the whole story. She _did_ feel guilty for betraying her duty to God, but how could she possibly tell the rest of it, that she had, if innocently, played a part in such a sordid _situation_? And how could she admit that, even knowing what she knew now, there was a part of her that could not let him go?

Maria felt like she was drowning in the emotions that flooded through her. She pleaded, "Please, Mother, let me stay, I beg of you." Through her tears, she heard the Mother Abbess tell her that she could not hide from her feelings in the Abbey, that she had to go back and find out the truth.

_Reverend Mother is talking about the love between a man and a woman. But Captain von Trapp never loved me, and he never will. I was foolish to believe otherwise. Yet, still, I cannot stop thinking about him. If I tell her the truth about him – can it really be true? - she will not make me go back to the villa, but she probably will not let me take my vows either, and then I will have nowhere to go. And the truth is that I cannot stay away any longer, I cannot resist the opportunity to see the children and to see him one more time. I should not have run away without looking into his eyes one more time, without seeing for myself the truth about him. I have to know. _"Very well, Mother." She bowed her head in submission – but also to hide her face from Reverend Mother's searching glance. It turned out that she was capable of lying after all.

There was only one more question to ask: "But Mother, what happens if…"

"If it is not happily after ever, as they say in the fairy tales? If he cannot give you your heart's desire? Then at least you will _know_, Maria. It takes wholehearted commitment to become one of the sisters, and you cannot pursue a life at the Abbey if your heart is elsewhere. And …"

The Mother Abbess hesitated, " Maria…. there is something else, my child. I think you need to consider what you have learned from your time at the villa about where your true vocation is, what life you were meant to live. If you have found it in your heart to love this man, these children … then perhaps…"

Somewhere in her mind, Maria heard a door click shut, the door to the only future she had ever imagined for herself. Confusion and fear roiled within her. "Please Mother, don't close that door. I'm scared. I have wanted to be a nun since I was a girl!"

"Maria. When the Lord closes a door, he opens a window. He will never abandon you and neither will I. But Maria, even if your future lies here at the Abbey, you must go back. You must find out. Now go. There are some clothes in the robing room for you."

As if in a dream – or a nightmare, perhaps – Maria kissed the Mother Abbess' hand and left the room. _Reverend Mother cannot imagine the only future that awaits me at the villa. What would she say if she knew she might be sending me back to become a . . ._ She could not finish the sentence, not even to herself. _I will see him one more time, and then I will know what to do, I will figure out what comes next._

Within the hour, Maria was on the bus back to Aigen. It was a beautiful day – warm, with a gentle breeze rustling through the trees, sun-yellow late-summer flowers nodding to her from the side of the road, clouds sailing above, all that natural beauty making her feel even more alone with her misery. How foolish, pitiful really, that fresh faced young woman had been who had ridden the same bus, raced down the road to the villa and rung the doorbell months before. The things that worried her then – being responsible for seven youngsters, adjusting to her tyrannical employer – had not been so hard after all. Now, she was terrified of things she would not even have understood when she first came to Aigen.

She thought back to her first, disturbing encounters with the Captain. How shocked she'd been at the way he treated his children! Maria was horrified and disillusioned. She had grown up without parents and had carried in her heart for many years an ideal vision of how things could be for children with even one loving parent. His aloof treatment of his children, and his harsh sarcasm toward her, filled her with sympathy toward her young charges and helped her through the early days when they tested her patience at every turn.

By the time he returned from Vienna, Maria had already learned that things were more complicated than they appeared. The older children told her stories of a father who had romped through the house with them, who always had time for each of them, who took pride in their accomplishments. "He is angry with us because Mother died," Louisa told her, in her direct way, one afternoon, and while Liesl and Friedrich rushed to their father's defense, they did not really challenge their sister on the fundamental point: something had gone wrong when their mother died. Apparently, while the children had adjusted to her loss, their father – a national hero, knighted for bravery in battle – could not. There were no pictures of the children's mother – and that is how she was always referred to – anywhere in the house, although Liesl had shown her a small locket with her mother's photo secreted away in her bureau: "Please don't tell Father I kept it, Fraulein."

_Surely_, Maria had wondered, _if he is talking about marrying again, there is some small part of his heart that is still capable of loving and being loved?_ Maria's natural, kind-hearted sympathy was aroused. She dreamed of welcoming the Captain and his bride-to-be back from Vienna. With a little coaching from their governess, the children would be irresistible to Baroness Schrader, who would naturally fall in love with them immediately, and their old father would be restored to them. Maria even daydreamed about the way he'd thank her, stiffly, formally. How proud she'd be when she reported her success to the Mother Abbess!

Of course, it hadn't turned out that way at all, at least not exactly. The Captain was furious when he returned to learn that his children had been traipsing through the countryside, seven urchins dressed in rags. One glimpse of the elegant Baroness, and Maria could understand why. Disheartened, and disappointed on the children's behalf, Maria had lashed out at him, had stopped just short of telling him that she loved his children more than he did. She'd been outraged, her heart pounding so hard with righteous anger that she barely heard the children begin singing for the Baroness until he asked about the sound.

And then . . . she could not believe her eyes, or her ears, when he joined them in song, when he gathered them in his arms, when Gretl nestled in the Baroness' lap. Later that same night, tucking seven happy, exhausted children into bed, and turning the Captain's heartfelt apology over in her mind, Maria had thought _, I got through to him! For once, my temper has served some useful purpose. It's a happy ending, like one of the little girls' fairy tales. _

It was only now, months later, riding the bus back to Aigen, that Maria knew _that _day was when things started to go wrong for her. Oh, at first, nothing seemed to have changed very much. She went about her daily routine with the children while the Captain entertained the Baroness and Herr Detweiler. He did make an effort to spend time every day with the children, often taking one or two of them for a swim or a horseback ride. He snapped at the children less often. But with his guests, and with her, he could still be moody and irritable, barking orders at her as though she were serving on one of his ships. He spent a great deal of time in his study, where he appeared to be immersing himself in the gloomy political news from Berlin and Vienna.

Maria found herself watching the Captain carefully, collecting bits of information about him, trying to fit together what she knew about this complicated man into some kind of understandable picture _although it would have to be one of those pictures by Senor Picasso_, she thought, a jumble of images and elements that looked like no recognizable person. He was an aristocrat, a war hero, yet humble enough to apologize to an insubordinate governess, to treat his staff with courtesy. He was a traditionalist who encouraged his daughters to excel at math and Latin. He had an engineer's orderly mind, but she learned that he loved music, the more dissonant and impassioned the better. He was formal, almost always reserved, but unashamed of his deep love for Austria, and about his fears for his beloved country. She was impressed, but not surprised, when Frau Schmidt told her that he, alone among the local gentry, had refused to entertain Herr Zeller. In short, he seemed exactly what Reverend Mother had told her he would be: a fine man.

Maria especially admired the Captain's attitude toward _rules. _ Having struggled with rules her whole life, yet wanting to be part of a religious community, she watched with interest as he encouraged his children to think independently while preparing them to take their place in the Austrian aristocracy. One afternoon, she went to the terrace to retrieve Kurt's sandals and found the Captain, sitting alone with a cold drink, newspapers scattered all around him, appearing unusually relaxed. Screwing up her courage, she seized the opportunity to ask: "Er, Captain? I was wanting to ask you, that is, I hope you don't mind… but sometimes, er, I wonder…"

"What it is, Fraulein?" he said, briskly, but his eyes were kind.

"Well, Captain, I so admire the way you encourage the children to think for themselves. Like this morning, when you challenged Brigitta to defend her choice of reading material, but let her choose the one I know you didn't approve of – oh, yes, I could tell, you let it go because her argument was so _logical_. And when Louisa told you she wants to be a doctor, you asked her right away what kind of medicine interested her. But at the same time, Captain, there are all these rules – what fork to use, and what kind of dress to wear for dinner, and . . . "

He shrugged. "It's a matter of choices. I want my children to control their own destinies, yes, the girls too. If they want to go out into the world, to explore Africa, to start a business in America, then that is what I want them to be able to do, just as I chose a submarine command even though my family, and the men I trained with, considered it an, er, unorthodox choice. And, Fraulein . . . " – the Captain gestured toward the morning papers, scattered all around him – "look at how the world around us is changing, and not for the better. They need to be prepared for all of that, too. I look around me and I can only conclude that Austria's best days are behind her. But, when they are grown, if they prefer this world of Sir this and Lady that, of dinners for fifty in stuffy ballrooms, of chattering empty headed ladies and dissolute unprincipled men…"

The Captain's gaze was fixed in the distance, and Maria felt for a moment like he was talking to someone else, someone who wasn't there with them, but then his eyes returned to her. "I can't make that choice for my children, so I am trying to make sure they are ready for whatever future they choose. And that they can fit into all of this," he nodded toward the villa. " . . . if it still exists when they are grown . . ." His face saddened. "It's the world I was raised in, and the world that brought their mother to me…" He stopped abruptly, as though he had said too much. She quickly changed the subject, feeling secretly proud that she was beginning to understand this complicated man and that he shared so much with her.

Maria told herself that her preoccupation was for the _children's_ sake, that she needed to understand him better to find the best way to help him reconnect to them: to Friedrich, who as a young man had most missed his father's influence, to Gretl and Marta, who had no memory at all of their mother, to all of them. And, Maria told herself, she clearly was not doing anything _wrong_, anything to be ashamed of, when the Captain so clearly valued her advice, respected her opinion. As the summer wore on, they conferred almost daily, it seemed: about Liesl's desire for dancing lessons, Kurt's struggles with the violin, Gretl's bad dreams.

Somehow, one conversation led to another: she asked him to choose a military history book, and the next thing she knew, she was asking him why, exactly, he'd chosen a submarine command, and why his family opposed it, and then he was drawing precise diagrams on scraps of paper in the schoolroom while the children were changing for dinner. Or he would remind her to ask the music teacher for Liesl's new music, and before she knew it, she was seated by his side at the piano while he lectured her on the finer points of the sonata form.

Maria knew, deep down inside, that she was playing a dangerous game. Throughout her young life, she'd been seemingly immune to the silly romantic notions that infected her schoolmates . Perhaps, to keep her wits around her as she navigated a childhood spent in foster care, she'd not allowed herself anything so frivolous. But there was no denying that she seemed to have some type of schoolgirl _crush_ on her employer, something that went beyond simply admiring his character. It was impossible to be unaffected by his many talents, his sharp mind and clever wit, or his physical appeal, with his deep blue eyes, his warm voice, his broad shoulders. In her limited experience she had never met anyone quite like the Captain. She felt in some ways they were kindred spirits, both of them fiercely independent thinkers, yet deeply attached to unbending institutions.

At first, Maria didn't let this schoolgirl crush – for surely that's all it was – bother her too much. He was safe, wasn't he, someone years older than her who occupied a social position comfortably miles apart from her own, and on the verge of announcing his engagement? What harm could come from it, really? Maybe it was good, in a way, for Maria to get this kind of thing out of her system before taking her vows. After all, wasn't that, in a way, why the Mother Abbess sent her to the villa?

But Maria was fairly sure that Reverend Mother would not have approved of, or even understood, how_aware _she was of the Captain, sitting next to him on that piano bench, so close she could _feel_ the rumble of his voice, could absorb his scent, could hardly bear his arm brushing against hers. She was so mesmerized by his long fingers, by the way his hands moved across the keyboard, that an hour later, she remembered nothing he'd told her. "Captain, er, can you remind me again? It was Brahms, I know, but was it . . . I'm so sorry, I can't recall which piece you wanted Liesl to learn." He answered her courteously, but she as he turned away, she saw the smirk on his lips, and fled the room before he could see her blush.

Nor would the Mother Abbess have understood the shimmering heat that washed over her that night in the nursery when his hands had caught in her hair. Or the dreams that soon invaded her sleep, first dreams in which the Captain's hand covered hers momentarily as he passed a dinner plate to her, or they brushed by each other in the hallway, then dreams of picnicking with him on the mountain, the children strangely absent, and then dreams where she was dancing in his arms, his arm around her waist, his warm breath on her face . . . Maria awoke from these dreams breathless, euphoric, full of guilt, and curiously unsettled. When they danced together that last night at the ball, it was as though one of those dreams had come true.

By the evening of the ball, Maria knew she was firmly in forbidden territory. For the first time, she was conscious of being _different_ from the ladies who thronged through the villa and around the Captain, their jewels sparkling, their beautiful gowns swirling around them as they waltzed, each surrounded by a cloud of perfumed air. She had felt uncomfortable the whole night, a plain ugly duckling like the one in Marta's book of fairy tales. She told herself, _I know I should not be yearning for . . . I know what Reverend Mother would say if knew what I was . . . There's no question. I must return to the Abbey, and soon! But . . . if I leave now, it will break the children's hearts. And they have been through so much! Just a few weeks more. The children will begin school and I'll be back at the Abbey. I'll quickly forget about all of this, I'll stop thinking about beautiful dresses and handsome sea captains and become my old self again. _

At least, if she were an ugly duckling, she'd felt safely invisible that night. Most of the guests ignored her, of course, but she was used to that after a summer with the Captain's houseguests. Maria felt herself disappearing into the background _as a governess should. I just hope for the children's sake that he makes a suitable fuss over the entertainment, they have worked so hard. _Her employer had complimented her briefly on the children's appearance, but then he'd been pulled into the ball, absorbed into its glittering center. Keeping track of the children – she'd received very specific direction from Baroness Schrader about just what they were and weren't allowed to do – she was conscious of him, circulating among his guests, smiling, bowing, dancing the opening waltz with the Baroness. She found it hard not to stare at the Captain: he was impossibly handsome in his evening clothes, and the medal at his neck, a reminder of his heroism in the face of extreme danger, of his extraordinary bravery under fire, made a curious contrast with the polished, somewhat contrived environment that surrounded them.

_Stop staring at him, you have lost track of the children, _ she'd admonished herself. It was a relief to find them on the terrace, to relax in their company, to feel the cool evening breeze on her flushed cheeks. _This is where I belong._ She was relaxed enough, indeed, that when she turned to find the Captain, standing there, smiling, extending his hand to her for the Laendler, she was surprised, certainly, but comfortable, too. _I am having fun_, she'd thought, as they moved together , _there is nothing wrong with this! The children are right here, and in a moment he will return to the party, it will be as if nothing happened. _And then . . . she had remembered the last steps, about the way the dance was going to end. She felt her face flush, and her heart began to race at the thought of what came next.

Maria closed her eyes, half-wanting to forget the memory and half-wanting to preserve it. His blazing eyes, his hand firmly on her waist, his other hand squeezing hers, confirmed what she already suspected. The Captain not only respected her opinions, listening to her when she offered him one of her good talking-to's, his eyes seeking her approval for his Edelweiss duet with Liesl: those things were _flattering_, the kind of attention people wanted from a _nun_.

No, the way his eyes lingered on her a moment longer than necessary; the way he had sat quite close to her at the piano even though the bench was quite large; the times had mysteriously appeared at the lakeside once she began wearing an old swimming costume she'd found in her armoire: this was not respect, it was _desire_, and it frightened Maria. It was one thing to have a schoolgirl crush on a safely unattainable man, and quite another to find him looking at you as though he might devour you, to come so close to him you can smell him, can almost taste …

"Aigen! Aigen! Fraulein, this is your stop!

Maria was jolted out of her reverie. She was almost there, only a few minutes' walk away from the moment of reckoning, when she would see him again. She tried to concentrate on the children, how excited she was to be seeing them, if only they did not blame her for running away from them. She was, truthfully, a little hazy on exactly what was going to happen with the Captain, now that the moment was almost upon her, the Mother Abbess' reassurances about the holy love between men and women fading with every minute.

What could she really hope for? Baroness Schrader had made clear that the Captain would never love anyone the way he had loved his late wife, and that she owned whatever part of his heart was left. The Baroness had probably told him about that last conversation, laughing with him about Maria's naiveté, her schoolgirl crush on him. What if he no longer felt anything for her? What if she offered herself to him – not that she had the slightest intention or idea of how to do that - and he responded as he had at the ball, with a careless "You can if you want to, Fraulein." She smiled despite herself at the unlikely scenario.

Or worse, what if he _did_ want her? Would she even consider giving in? Maria shivered at the very thought, but her mind raced ahead. _What would it be like to be with him, alone, in his study perhaps, or would it be in some remote part of the villa _– she could barely think about it, even to herself _– witih him pretending indifference to me in public, treating me like he did at the ball? What if the older children figured it out? And what would it be like when . . . when he no longer wanted me, when the fire in his eyes went out? Would I be turned out? Would I have to leave Salzburg?_ She knew so little of how these things worked _– would it be a week? A month? A year?_

She shook those thoughts away. _I cannot be with him _that _way,_ she told herself, but she was not sure she believed it. _Could I have been so wrong about him? I need to see it for myself. _

Maria entered the gate, deciding to avoid Franz by going around the back of the house. Her heart pounding, she could no longer reassure herself that confidence alone would help her face down the challenges ahead. _Look where confidence has gotten me so far!_ Instead, she concentrated on the children, repeating their names like a prayer: _Liesl, Friedrich, Louisa, Brigitta, Kurt, Marta, Gretl. Liesl, Friedrich, Louisa, Brigitta, Kurt, Marta, Gretl. Liesl, Friedrich, Louisa, Brigitta, Kurt, Marta, Gretl_. And so it was reassuring to round the corner and find those same children singing, sadly at first, but then their voices bursting with joy as they noted her arrival. They rushed toward her – how fitting it was that Louisa, the prickliest of them, was the first to embrace her – and then they all gathered around, her trying to kiss and hug every one of them at once.

"Children, I'm so glad to see you!"

"We missed you! said Marta, and the others chimed in. They swarmed around her, chattering, moving toward the house, Maria allowing her eyes to slide toward the house for just a moment, her heart skipping a beat simply at the thought that he was in there, somewhere. She relaxed as she realized that the children weren't angry at her at all, in fact, they seemed almost desperate to connect with her, almost every one of them holding her hand, clinging to her arm, leaning on her shoulder. She fell into her easy banter with them, commiserating over Gretl's finger, laughing at Kurt's empty stomach, offering Liesl cheerful advice about Rolf.

…and then then came the news, a blow more painful than any physical assault she'd suffered during her childhood. Years later, the terrible memory of that moment could still bring tears to Maria's eyes. Unsurprisingly, it was Brigitta, the one who was not afraid of the truth, who somehow knew she had to deliver the news: "Father's going to be married." The world turned dark and time stood still. She wondered if Kurt had noticed her hand on his shoulder, steadying herself, willing her knees not to buckle. Maria barely heard herself respond to the children. A wave of nausea swept over her.

She had barely caught her breath when the sound of the Captain's voice threatened to undo whatever composure she had left. "Good evening," he offered, evenly, his tone balanced perfectly between warmth and coolness, the smallest of smiles on his face - intended, no doubt, for the children. Breezily, he sent them in to dress for dinner, and then his attention returned to her. "You left without saying goodbye, even to the children," he said, gravely, his face unreadable even to Maria, who had prided herself on having figured him out. Was he angry at her for running away? Appalled by her schoolgirl crush? Simply curious? Possibly remorseful?

Seeing him reminded Maria, for just a moment, of everything she felt for him, as though the Laendler had never ended. The feelings washed over her: respect, affection, attraction, and something much darker she could barely name. But now, contemplating her from the top of the steps, the look in his eyes was . . . different, watchful, as though a gap had opened between them. If she had thought that one more look at him would tell her what she needed to know, she'd been wrong. The change unsettled Maria, revived her somehow. She was able to collect herself, to summon from deep inside that famously tenacious will that had helped her survive a miserable childhood. _He is marrying the Baroness, and that is that. I can survive this. Can't I?_

"It was wrong of me, please forgive me," she said, brushing away the Captain's questions, "anyway, the reason no longer exists." _I will refuse him if he approaches me. I will _never_ let him know how I feel, not if he asks, not even if he begs me, _ she thought stubbornly. Her determination only increased when the Baroness appeared, threading a possessive arm through his. Maria swallowed the lump that threatened to burst from her chest. Offering the couple her best wishes, feeling the tears about to spill over, she turned to flee for the safety of her room.

But he was not done tormenting her yet. "You are back to stay?"

_For what reason? To keep your children occupied while you are wrapped up in your new bride? To entertain you when you tire of her? _"Only until a new governess can be arranged," she snapped, and bolted, without waiting for a response.

She had a tearful half-hour in her room, alone, after leaving the terrace. Too soon, the tide of angry indignation that had helped sweep her upstairs receded, leaving her once again hurt and embarrassed. _Why am I so surprised?,_ she asked herself. _Reverend Mother may have thought she was sending me back here in search of true love, but I _knew_ the nature of his interest in me. The fact that he has decided to spend the rest of his life with the kind of woman he's intended for – that has nothing to do with me. The only thing left to do is . . . _She was not sure what to do. Once again, she ticked through the choices as she had on the bus, but with the new reality of the Captain's marriage in mind.

_I cannot bear to leave the children. But can I stay and watch him live happily with his new bride? Seeing him again, remembering the man I thought him to be, makes it harder still to accept what the Baroness told me, but if she was right, and if he pursues me, will I have the strength to reject him? What am I willing to sacrifice to have an hour, a day, a month of what I felt during that dance, knowing he will never acknowledge me in public? And if I can even think that way, how can I go back to the Abbey? _

When she heard the dinner bell ring, Maria drew one last shaky breath, washed her face, and changed her clothes. Her dresses were still in the armoire, and, not being able to bear the thought of wearing the Laendler dress again, she put on what she still thought of as her Edelweiss dress. She took one last glance in the mirror, smiled weakly at the pale, hollow-eyed girl that looked back at her, and hurried from the room.


	5. Chapter 5: Night

**At last! M&G appear together in the same chapter! As always, thanks for your wonderful reviews and private messages. They are really helpful. If you have read other TSOM fanfics as closely as I have, you will see some familiar images and ideas in here – but I have always said that I am standing on the shoulders of many other talented writers, and I hope they don't mind. Don't forget to find the TSOM Fanfic group on Facebook. And, as usual, I don't own anything about the Sound of Music. Enjoy this newest chapter – another A/N appears at the end.**

Chapter 5 Night

That evening's dinner at the von Trapp villa was, in many ways no different from the dozens that preceded it. The table sparkled with china, crystal and silver. Franz moved about quietly, offering course after course of delicious food and wine. It was Liesl's turn to say grace. Brigitta snuck a book to the table. Max kept up a stream of amusing patter. The children were ebullient, talking all at once, vying for Maria's attention, filling her in on everything that had happened in the week she'd been gone – Marta's lost tooth, Gretl's first swimming lesson, the fish Friedrich had caught, and so on.

In other ways, the evening was not quite _normal_. Elsa arrived a few minutes late, having changed into a stunning red gown Georg had last seen her wear to the opera. She sat in her usual place at his left. But while she smiled absently at Max's jokes, she was clearly preoccupied, her mind elsewhere.

And Maria was more subdued than Georg had ever seen her, so pale and lifeless that it frightened him. Seated at the other end of the table, she helped the youngest children with their food, and she offered a quick smile or nod at each nugget of the children's news, but he could tell her heart wasn't in it. He could barely recognize in her the outspoken, even brash young woman who had eaten so many meals in this room. How many times he had teased her about her hearty appetite, urging second helpings on her over Franz's quiet disapproval? - but tonight she simply moved her food around on her plate.

Georg wanted to believe the obvious explanation – that Maria was distressed by his plans to marry Elsa. But doubts continued to chase around in his mind: _she may have returned only to say goodbye to the children, that alone would break her heart._ Yet if that were the explanation for her odd behavior, then why was she doing her best to avoid any eye contact with _him?_ By the end of the meal, despite his disquiet, he found himself making a game of it, staring at her intently, waiting for the moment when she'd have to look up. If he caught her eye, she looked away quickly.

Georg was quieter than usual as well. Although normally capable of superhuman restraint, he could barely keep himself from standing up and . . . _and what? _ It had been just a few hours since he had broken the news to his children that he was going to marry Elsa, only to realize that he could not do so. He had had barely an hour to recover from the shock of Maria's return and he seemed unable to _think, _to_ strategize, _the kind of cool-headed thinking that had served him so well under fire.

_What exactly is your next move? _he asked himself. _To declare yourself, that you could not stop thinking about her the whole time she was away? To sweep her into your arms?_ Georg was not even certain that her feelings for him had brought her back to the villa, and what if they were? Maria was young, very young, and innocent – that was part of her charm. She had spent her teenage years at Nonnberg, hidden behind those gloomy stone walls while other girls her age were learning to flirt with boys and to break their hearts _although she has very nearly broken mine, _ he thought. _She will be frightened no matter what you do. You will have to go slow . . . _

Maria had not recovered from the blow of learning about the engagement. She tried to focus on the children, to bask in their obvious joy at her return, to treasure the news they were so eager to share with her. She could not resist an occasional peek at the Captain, who looked more impossibly handsome than ever. Even in her miserable state, however, she couldn't help noticing that something was not quite _right_ at his end of the table. He and the Baroness were not behaving the way that Maria, in her limited experience, expected an engaged couple to act. They spoke to each other politely, like two strangers sitting next to each other on the bus, and their eyes rarely met. It wasn't like they were angry at each other, exactly, just not _connected_. _Just another thing about this world I will never understand_, she thought bitterly, _ couples who love each other but barely speak. If someone were in love with me – if I loved someone – I could not possibly keep it hidden. _Was this really the Captain von Trapp she knew, that "fine, brave man" ? Instinctively, her eyes slid back to his end of the table, only to find him staring at her. Hastily, Maria looked down at her lap.

"Fraulein Maria, you haven't guessed yet!" Kurt's voice brought Maria back to her end of the table.

"Hm? I'm sorry, darling?" Maria murmured, weakly.

"We are guessing the answer to this riddle: What has eyes but can't see, a tongue but can't talk, and a soul but can never find love?"

_I am not the person to ask about love,_ Maria thought, ruefully. Mercifully, the children barely noticed when she failed to answer, shouting answers out over each other. "A nun?" guessed Marta.

"Why would you say _that_?" sneered Louisa.

"Because they cannot marry, and so they cannot love anyone," Marta explained.

Maria, stung by that unintended barb, hardly heard Liesl explain that the sisters, like Fraulein Maria, were _all about _love, hardly heard Max solve the riddle: "a shoe!"

And with that, dinner ended.

"Father, may we be excused?" Friedrich's voice interrupted Georg's thoughts.

"And Father," Louisa added, "would it be all right if, just this once, instead of singing after dinner, we – we went to Fraulein Maria's room to talk? There is so much we have to tell her!"

"Yes, yes, of course," Georg said. "Max, Elsa – do go on into the drawing room, I'll join you shortly." Dinner seemed to have lasted an eternity, and he hardly thought he could last another hour through the children's newly-established ritual of singing after dinner - a ritual he had tried to preserve with Maria's departure, but that had taken on a gloomy air without her.

He knew he would have to be patient, to bide his time before approaching Maria. Still, he could not resist doing a bit of reconnaissance. And he wanted to reassure her somehow, to ease her obvious suffering if he could. Watching her rise from her seat and creep toward the door – she stayed close to the wall, he noticed, as though taking evasive action in battle – Georg moved into the doorway, blocking her path.

"Fraulein," he started, bowing his head slightly, "it is . . . that is, I am, that is the children are . . . well, really, all of us are . . . happy to have you back with us." But she still refused to meet his eyes. He put his hand under her elbow – an innocent gesture, really, one a gentleman might make toward any lady as they left the room together – but she snatched her arm away as though he had nudged her with a branding iron.

"I'm not feeling entirely well, Captain. I'm so sorry. And I need to see to the children. Perhaps tomorrow . . ." And with that, she raced up the stairs behind the children.

Georg sighed and turned on his heel, heading for the drawing room and decisive action – he meant to have it out with Elsa. That he knew he had to do.

But Elsa – Elsa was having none of it. She had snapped out of her earlier gloom and was in rare form, laughing at Max's jokes, encouraging him to share yet another story, putting on the radio, dancing a few steps with an imaginary partner. . Georg knew her well enough to see the frantic edge, to see that she was avoiding another confrontation with him. _Putting off the inevitable_. "Max," he said, "Max, would you excuse us for a moment, I need to talk with Elsa…"

Max shot him an amused look – "I thought I was your chaperone, Georg, it's a most irregular request," he joked, but agreeably ambled out of the room.

Unfortunately, Elsa knew what was coming. "Excuse me, Georg, I need to make a telephone call." Exasperated, Georg told himself to be patient. _It's the least you can do for her. She was patient with you, all those months. _

He stepped out onto the balcony, enjoying the breeze, the moon's glow reflected in the lake. Although Georg was a man given to action, and not reflection, he was in an unusually introspective mood, brought on, perhaps, by the beautiful night, or perhaps the feeling that he was poised at a critical moment, at the opening of a new chapter in his life.

How he'd loved this home when he and Agathe bought it, just after Louisa's birth! His wife had joked at the time that they would need to have at least ten more children to fill it up. But it had become a prison after her death. Georg could hardly bear to stay here, leaving more and more frequently for Paris, Stockholm, London, Vienna, anywhere that he could escape her memory. Elsa had distracted him, had made him laugh again, but it was Maria, really, he thought, that made the family whole. Somehow, by reuniting him with his children, she had helped him find a way to hold Agathe's memory in his heart and his home, rather than run from it. He was forever in her debt.

With a moment to reflect on the stormy seas around him, Georg plotted his course, pondering the best approach to Maria. He did not dwell on the possibility that he was wrong – about what would happen if she planned to return to Nonnberg, if she denied the feelings that had clearly grown between them. What had one of his lieutenants said years ago? "The Captain wins every battle because he simply never accepts that defeat is an option."

He smiled at the memory of his courtship of his first wife, how her parents had fought the match at every turn, how he had confidently navigated through those battles, his mind entirely focused on the ultimate objective – to marry Agathe. That campaign had ended successfully and this one, although of course a different sort of campaign, would, too.

As if on cue, Maria appeared, walking toward the lake, aimlessly, her head bowed. How lovely she was, how _real_, like an anchor for his family while the rest of the world was in turmoil If things went as planned – and things always went as planned for Georg von Trapp – she would be his within hours.

He acknowledged the risks ahead. Even if she acquiesced, he was sailing into uncharted territory – there would be social repercussions, not only over his broken engagement, but over the scandal of a liaison with his governess. His reputation might not recover, and while he did not care much for convention – certainly not now, when the world was crumbling around them - the children might suffer. But they loved her dearly, he was sure of that, surely they would come around.

He was not unaware of the challenges – no skilled strategist ever was. He was a widower with seven children, twenty years her senior. She clearly was not impressed by his wealth, his standing, all the things that drew other women to him like moths to a flame. He would be taking her away from the only future she had ever hoped for. Could he really make her happy? But then he remembered the look on her face when she broke out of his arms after their dance. Reminding himself again how young and innocent she was, he reminded himself, _go slow. _

"There you are!" He started at Elsa's voice. He smiled at her, gently, wanting above all to be kind, to be a gentleman. He listened to her chatter on about the wedding, smiled at her jokes, and waited to catch her attention. "Elsa… Elsa! "

"Yes, Georg?"

"It's no use, you and I," he began, gravely, forcing himself to look into her eyes. He wanted, somehow, for both of them to understand how they had ended up in this situation, to explain that he had not intentionally deceived her, that he really had believed marrying her was the right thing to do. "When two people talk of marriage…" he began.

"No, don't," Elsa interrupted. "Don't say another word . . ."

And the next thing he knew, Elsa, her eyes brimming with tears, acknowledged his feelings for Maria and left him with a gentle kiss. Georg was stunned. No matter what version of events she took back to Vienna with her, Elsa had been talking about wedding presents only minutes before, until he interrupted her. _It must have cost her a great deal to rewrite our story on the spot, but it was easier for her this way, _he thought. He watched her go, silently thanking her for everything she had done for him, but perhaps most of all, for this last moment they had together.

Maria walked aimlessly along the lake, wishing she were still that girl whose heart could be soothed by music or by a day spent in the mountains; tonight, no amount of natural beauty could heal her. _Think of the children, _she told herself, _how happy you were to see them again, to feel their love and devotion. _It had not been easy to get them settled down. She'd had to promise the little ones, "Yes, darling, I will be here when you wake up again. I _promise_." And she'd been careful to tell them, "I _can't_ promise I will stay forever, no, but I will not run away again without telling you." She had felt the older ones' eyes on her, skeptical, curious.

She glanced up at the house involuntarily and flinched at the scene on the terrace: the Baroness, laughing gaily, one possessive arm on the Captain's. _No matter what happens between us, I will never be able to casually touch him that way, _she thought resentfully. He made an elegant figure as he leaned on the terrace, looking out at the lake, and though she couldn't hear their conversation, she could see him chuckle. When he turned back toward Baroness Schrader, Maria looked away, quickly, afraid of what she might see pass between them. She stopped near the gazebo, sitting on a bench where she would not be able to watch the scene on the terrace. Her head bowed, her shoulders slumped, Maria pondered. _I must know. I cannot move forward with my life until I know the truth, until I hear it from him. _Maria thought back to her childhood, to the years of fear and mistreatment. _I am brave enough to stand anything. But will I be brave enough to turn him down?_

"Hello," Georg offered, cautiously.

Instantly, she stiffened, looking up at him suspiciously. He tried to lighten the mood: "I thought I just might find you here," he said, wagging a playful finger at her, trying with one small gesture to remind her of the easy relationship they'd had earlier this summer, the long talks they'd had, the confidences they'd exchanged.

It didn't work. Maria sprang up from the bench and backed away from him. "Was . . . was there something you wanted?" It was hard to believe this was the same outspoken girl he'd bantered with all summer.

"No, no, no," he reassured her, and urged her to sit down. Uneasily, she perched on the very edge of the bench, her back ramrod straight. He carefully asked her permission to join her and paused for a moment. Better not to corner her, to frighten her with his own feelings. Better, perhaps, to give her a way to open up to him.

Cautiously, Georg cleared his throat, and began, "You know, I was . . ." He looked out into the distance and continued, "I was thinking, and . . . I was wondering, uh . . . two things: _why_ did you run away to the abbey, and . . . _what_ was it that made you come back?" Although he tried to sound casual, the way in which he underscored his words betrayed the intensity of his feelings.

"Well, I had an obligation to fulfill and I came back to fulfill it, " Maria answered, and if the tone of her response was matter-of-fact, her rigid posture and the way she stared down at her lap, refusing to meet his eyes, hinted at the turmoil within. She wasn't going to make it easy for him, he could tell. He pressed on. "Is that all?"

She looked off in the distance, toward the villa. "And I missed the children."

_I see, my love, a diversionary maneuver. _""O-Only the children?" Georg asked, gently, trying not to smile, although he was reminded of the berry-picking fable his children had woven earlier today.

"No. Yes!" She caught herself, hastily correcting her slip. She looked at him again and said defensively, "Isn't it right I should've missed them?"

"Yes! Yes, of course! I was only hoping that perhaps you... perhaps you might..." he trailed off.

Maria almost visibly gathered her courage, looking at him directly for the first time, leaning ever so slightly toward him. "Yes?"

"Well," Georg started, choosing his words carefully, trying to use the same light, affectionate tone they'd used with each other all summer. "Nothing was the same when you were away . . . and it'll be all wrong again after you leave . . . and I just thought you might perhaps . . . change your mind?"

He was taken aback by her forceful response, not knowing whether to be dismayed or relieved at the sudden, if temporary, return of the old Maria. "I _cannot_ do that," Maria said, looking directly at him, her voice once again strong, even defiant. "Perhaps you have forgotten, Captain, that I am going to be a _nun_? I am entering Nonnberg Abbey to take my vows in just a few days." She went on, rushing as though she would forget what she intended to say, or lose her nerve, if she took too long. "As I told you, sir, but you seem to have forgotten, I am here only until another governess can be arranged."

Maria lifted her chin and held his gaze with her clear blue eyes, challenging him. But he knew that gesture of hers well, knew it was a display of false bravado. Since the day he'd met her, Georg had doubted that the little governess was destined for the convent. He knew she was lying, if not to him, then to herself.

He was seated only inches away from her, and despairing that his words alone could ever break through the wall she'd put up around herself, he reached over and took one of her hands, clasping it between his. She tried to pull away, but he would not let go, his grasp firm but gentle. Her hand, trembling in his, was softer than his best dreams, but icy cold_. She is afraid_.

"I think we both know, Fraulein, that's not going to happen." Georg turned her hand so that her palm faced up, studying it carefully as though reading her fortune, squeezing it gently, but fighting the impulse to press his lips to her wrist. She did not resist, but she looked away and he thought he saw her shiver.

"And I think that… I wonder if . . . if there is some _other _future you dream of for yourself?" He raised his eyes to study her face. "Something that perhaps . . uh . . . we both want?"

Once again, Maria surprised him, this time with how quickly her defenses fell. Georg watched her face crumble. She snatched her hand away from him and stood, rushing into the shadow of a nearby tree. Although he could barely see her face in the gloom, he heard her struggle to control her voice, could almost imagine her eyes filling with tears.

"I beg your pardon, Captain, but we . . . we do _not_ want the same thing. No . . . no matter what you may have . . . ." she paused again, then went on, her voice wavering, ". . . no matter how I-I may have behaved . . ." Her words were barely whispered, "_that_ is _not_ what I want . . ." She cleared her throat, then bleated one last syllable, "Sir."

He was completely bewildered. "Fraulein, " he said, trying to find his way back to the way it had been between them, to evoke a summer's worth of easy affectionate banter between them, "_whatever _are you talking about?

"You" – Maria paused for a moment, as if gathering enough strength to continue, "whatever you think it is you feel for me, you'll get over it. You've been very kind to pay attention to me all summer . . . to dance with me . . ." Another long pause, the memory of the Laendler hanging in the air between them.

Her voice became stronger, with a sharp edge to it, "But you will get over it. I know that men do. Baroness Schrader was kind enough to explain it _all_ to me, and I'm sure . . ." She moved out of the shadows then, and past him, still avoiding his eyes, walking toward the gazebo, "I know how much you loved your wife. And now Baroness Schrader, well . . . the two of you will be marrying before long, and while I'm sure you would still like to enjoy my, um . . . my _company, _well, I'm sure the Baroness will be able to make things _fine_ for you." Her tone at the end was surprisingly sharp.

Georg was sickened, and then angry. So Elsa had gotten to her, somehow. He was furious, of course, at Elsa, but he was, in some small corner of his mind, angry, too, that Maria could so easily misjudge him_. _

He took a deep breath, addressing her carefully, almost formally. "Fraulein. _Fraulein_. You have been a member of my household for several months. We have spoken, at length, about my . . . my _ideals_, my beliefs, my wishes for my family, my fears for my country. " She stood completely still as though listening carefully, but she did not turn to face him.

"I can see now, that my behavior has caused you pain, Fraulein, and for that, I must, once again, apologize, and assure you that I hold you in the highest regard. But . . ." he paused, rising from the bench, trying to stay calm.

"But, Fraulein, perhaps _you_ owe _me _an apology as well. Do you _really _believe that I am the kind of man that would wed one woman one day and steal into another's bed the next?" He did not raise his voice, and he did not need to: his wrath was evident.

Georg knew his words would shock her. It was a calculated risk, just as she had risked her job, that day, shouting at him, doing whatever she needed to do to make him confront the truth about his children. Now it was _his _turn to provoke her, to rouse her, to lure her out of the trap she had allowed herself to fall into, to see him for the man he truly was.

Closing the distance between them in a few long strides, he caught up with her. "And in any event, _Maria_," – she turned, surprised to hear him call her by name - "Maria . . . there isn't going to _be_ any Baroness."

She was obviously bewildered, completely overwhelmed by everything he was saying. Her eyes remained fixed on the ground, her voice as forlorn as a lost child's: "There isn't?"

Wanting to give her time to think, Georg answered, simply, "No," staying close to her as she moved, listlessly, toward the gazebo.

Maria was still trying to make sense of what he was saying. "I don't understand."

He explained, patiently, "Well we cut off our engagement, you see, and-"

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said, offhandedly.

Astonished, Georg stopped short, just inside the gazebo's doorway. _Have I misread her? _ "You are?" he asked, baffled.

At the same moment, as though she had finally begun to listen, but could not believe what she had heard, Maria asked, "You did?"

She felt brave enough, at last, to look directly at him, searching his face for an answer. Something in his voice, in his choice of words, in his unwavering dark blue gaze, in his unexpectedly gentle touch, something persuaded her that that the man in front of her might be her fine, brave Captain after all. Maria felt as though she were waking from a nightmare, suspended in that moment when the mind is trying to sort out what is reassuringly real and what horrors have only been imagined.

Now he turned to face her, coming so close to her that she could see the smallest detail in his handsome face. She thought of the Laendler, of the desire that had burned in his eyes that night, and her heart began to race. A small part of her was frightened, wanted to run away, but his gaze pinned her where she stood.

At first his voice was light. "Well, you can't _marry_ someone . . ." but then something shifted, his tone becoming all at once more tender and more forceful. ". . . when you're . . . in love with someone else . . . can you?"

_He loves me. _Maria could not tear her eyes away from his, could not utter a sound, fearing that if she moved even a muscle, the moment would dissolve, its magic irretrievably shattered. She managed, at last, to shake her head, the tiniest affirmation that she had heard him. Everything seemed to slow down, every one of her senses magnified. She felt him lift her face toward his, felt his lips brush hers, tentatively at first, then with greater certainty, although it seemed to Maria that there was a question hidden within. She was conscious of nothing but the feeling of his mouth on hers. Her eyes still closed, she reveled in the soft kisses he showered on her forehead, her eyelids, her cheek, while his hands slid down to caress her neck.

_He loves me_. A flood of feelings – relief, joy, excitement – swept over Maria until, gasping, she all but collapsed into his arms, her head against his shoulder. After all the hours she'd spent dreaming about him, there was no mistaking how _real _this moment was . . . the firm but gentle way his lips had moved on hers, the scrape of his cheek against her forehead, the steady rise and fall of his chest with each breath, the scent of his cologne, the burning touch of his fingers stroking her neck, even the pinch of a shirt button against her cheek – she treasured every one of these sensations because they told her this was no dream.

Too soon, however, the doubts and questions crowded back into Maria's mind. _He loves me, but . . . what does it mean? What kind of life lies ahead for someone like me, to love and be loved by a man like him? _

Not even realizing she was speaking aloud, Maria reassured herself, " Reverend Mother always says, when the Lord closes a door, somewhere He opens a window."

It was not, perhaps, the first thing Georg expected to hear from her, but he had already learned never to be surprised by Maria. Amused, he leaned back, cupping her face in his hands, smiling tenderly. "What else does the Reverend Mother say?"

"That you have to look for your life," she answered him, seriously, with not even a trace of a smile in her voice.

"Is that why you came back?"

She nodded, but as if embarrassed, looking down at the floor, her lashes brushing her cheek. Was that a tear glistening there?

"And have you found it, Maria?"

He was not prepared for her response. "I . . . I'm not sure. "

The tear slid down her cheek, and he brushed it away, watching her carefully. She paused for so long that he was about to prompt her, when she began speaking again, slowly, as though she were thinking out loud. "I came back to find out the truth about you, about us . . . but now it doesn't seem so simple. " She went on, her voice faltering, still refusing to meet his eyes. "The Reverend Mother . . . well, she has been behind the Abbey's walls for a very long time. She doesn't know, perhaps, _everything _about . . . about the life that lies beyond those doors and windows . . . "

And now she did look up at him, allowing him to see the love shining in her eyes, illuminating her lovely face. She touched his cheek, gently, for just a moment, as though she wanted to make sure he was real, and he kissed her palm. " It _is_ a relief," - the briefest of smiles flickered across her face - "to know how you feel, and not to have to hide my feelings any more. But . . . I cannot see a way out of this mess. . . "

Her face clouded over. She stopped speaking, abruptly, and he detected a flicker of indignation in her eyes, of the hot-headed Maria he had known all summer. "Do you remember," she asked, challenging him, her eyes narrowing, "the evening of the ball?"

"Indeed I do, darling," he smiled, his hands sliding down the curve of her back to take possession of her waist, "I will never forget it!"

"Not that," she shook her head, impatiently, putting her hands against his chest as though to push him away, although she didn't try very hard, he noticed. "After. After we . . . after the Laendler ended, before dinner, when you . . ."

He flinched at the memory. "Maria, I behaved badly. I will not even try to offer an excuse, but I can tell you that if you allow me, I will . . . "

She cut him off, "I am not asking you to apologize. It's just the way things are, the way they will always be. It's just that . . . let me find another way to explain it." She paused. "Do you remember the night we were playing cards with the children and you could guess, from my face, exactly what I had in my hand?"

Georg smiled, lifting a hand to run his fingers through her hair. "You'd make a terrible spy, darling."

"Exactly." Her voice thickened with tears she would not allow herself to shed. "I don't know if I am strong enough to live that way. It's different for you, I can tell. But to live in your house, to care for your children, and to have to pretend . . ." She swallowed. " . . . And even knowing what I know now, that we both feel . . . to have you pretend not to . . . I have withstood a great deal of adversity in my life, things you do not know about me. But I do not think I could bear the shame, and the pain at the end. In some ways, it is _worse_ now than it was before." Her voice was barely a whisper at the end.

It had cost Maria a great deal, more than she cared to admit, to share her fears with him. She watched his handsome face closely. He looked puzzled momentarily, and then triumphant, as though he had solved an especially tricky puzzle. A mischievous smile crossed his face, but before she could even react - how dare he find this amusing? - the smile faded, as though he had reached some kind of decision. He fixed her with a glare so intense that she could not open her mouth, could not move, could do nothing but wait for him to make the next move. He was clearly in control.

"You have not lived outside those convent walls for very long, Maria. There is indeed a way for us to be together. It's really the most natural thing in the world, once you get used to it." His voice was smooth, persuasive, but the undertone frightened her. His hands tightened around her waist, pulling her toward him. She could feel the length of his body against hers.

_That's exactly what I'm afraid of,_ _getting used to you. _Maria thought. _I should run away now, pull away from you this very instant. Because I know this will not end well. _But the memory of his kiss, the look in his dark eyes, the way his fingers had traced her neck, the feeling of his hands on her waist and his body against hers, tempted her to stay in his arms just one more moment before fleeing. She tried to meet his gaze, but somehow her eyes kept drifting back to his mouth, and she wondered if he could read her mind still_. He loves me. I love him_. _Yet this may be the very last time I see his face, hear his voice, feel his arms around me. The memory of this moment may be all I have to hold on to. One minute. Just one more minute. _

"It's really very natural, very simple," the Captain went on, his voice so deadly quiet that she had to lean closer to hear him. "When two people appear to have so little in common, yet agree about the most important things, the things that matter . . . when they amuse each other, drive each other mad . . . when they are attracted to each other . . ." Maria blushed, shaking her head slightly, but he put a finger to her lips, "Don't bother denying it, darling, we both know it. You are thinking right now about whether to run away from me, or to stay for just one more minute in case I kiss you again, aren't you? "

She opened her mouth to protest, but no words came out. A shiver ran down her spine. _Alas, I am lost. I cannot resist him._

"For two people in our situation," he continued, evenly, his eyes never leaving hers, his hand caressing her hair, her cheek, her neck, his thumb finding a sensitive spot behind her ear. "It is easy to take the next step. You know what it is, don't you? Do you want me to show you or tell you? Very well, then, I'll tell you first and then I'll show you."

He moved closer to her, one arm still firmly around her waist, the other hand still cradling her neck so she could not pull away, his breath warm on her ear. The sound of her own heart thudding was so loud she could barely hear him. He whispered, "You _know _what we're going to do, don't you, Maria? What I'm going to do?"

**A/N: I am sorry, really, for this cliffhanger, and for getting dangerously close to AU, I know, I know. But, as I was trying to finish this story, Georg kept misbehaving and, like Maria, I just could not resist. The chapter was getting too long anyhow – and now you have one more chapter to look forward to as a result! Thank you so much for sticking with me and I hope you'll find it worthwhile. **


	6. Chapter 6: A New Day Begins

Chapter 6: A New Day Begins

_"It's really very natural, very simple," the Captain went on, his voice so deadly quiet that she had to lean closer to hear him. "When two people appear to have so little in common, yet agree about the most important things, the things that matter . . . when they amuse each other, drive each other mad . . . when they are attracted to each other . . ." Maria blushed, shaking her head slightly, but he put a finger to her lips, "Don't bother denying it, darling, we both know it. You are thinking right now about whether to run away from me, or to stay for just one more minute in case I kiss you again, aren't you?"_

_She opened her mouth to protest, but no words came out. A shiver ran down her spine. _Alas, I am lost. I cannot resist him_._

_"For two people in our situation," he continued, evenly, his eyes never leaving hers, his hand caressing her hair, her cheek, her neck, his thumb finding a sensitive spot behind her ear. "It is easy to take the next step. You know what it is, don't you? Do you want me to show you or tell you? Very well, then, I'll tell you first and then I'll show you."_

_He moved closer to her, one arm still firmly around her waist, the other hand still cradling her neck so she could not pull away, his breath warm on her ear. The sound of her own heart thudding was so loud she could barely hear him. He whispered, "You __know __what we're going to do, don't you, Maria? What I'm going to do?"_

.-

"I'm going to marry you," he whispered, kissing her cheek, then leaning back to grin at her.

Maria stood frozen in shock, speechless for a moment, before she pushed him away, hurt, enraged, her eyes blazing. "What? How _dare_ you tease me like that?" Her fists were clenched at her sides.

Baffled, he raised his hands in the air, as if to call a truce. "Maria. I _love_ you, even if it took me longer than it should have to realize it. _You_ love _me_. You love my children and they love you. I want you to marry me. I - uh - I _ask_ you to marry me." A smile crossed his face at the memory.

She struggled to keep from bursting into angry tears, sputtering, "Am I mistaken, Captain, or weren't you engaged to Baroness Schrader just a few hours ago? Who is next in line after _me_?"

He winced. "I - I've made a mess of things. I made a mistake. I thought . . . that I had no right to anything more." As though he'd suddenly remembered something, his mood shifted. "Can you blame me? _You_ ran away, Maria. You ran away from me, from the children, leaving all of us to wander through the house at night, sleepless, just like when she . . ." He caught himself and stood, silent, staring at her, pain and fear written on his face.

"And - and I am sorry for that," she admitted, quietly. "I was scared of the way I felt about you, especially when I thought that you only . . . ." She blushed, " . . . well, you know."

"But you were mistaken about me." Georg paced around the perimeter of the gazebo. "It is hard to admit mistakes, I know. For many years, I lived with the reality that one error on my part could cost dozens of men their lives. I _never_ allowed myself to make a mistake. When you confronted me the day I returned from Vienna, it cost me a great deal to admit that I was at fault. Now I have admitted to yet another misstep. Are you ready to admit _your_ mistake?"

He stopped and faced her again. "You are going to need to learn to trust me. I don't know what Elsa told you, but whatever I should have done differently, my intentions toward you have _never_ been anything other than honorable." He paused for a moment. "I could have done you far more damage had it been otherwise, you know. But I do not want a _mistress_," he said scornfully. "After we are married, you will understand why." He smirked.

Maria could not believe what she was hearing. Somehow, she felt as though if she kept denying the plain meaning of his words, it would protect her against the inevitable hurt when he came to his senses, as he undoubtedly would. She shook her head, as though he would vanish if her vision cleared. "After we are married? You can't be _serious_. You're not going to marry me! And how can I possibly marry you?"

"Oho, but I _am_ serious. You're not going to try and tell me that you're taking your vows next week, are you? I thought my kiss put an end to that plan, but if necessary I can kiss you again."

She flushed, trying to ignore his last remark. "You yourself, Captain, have told me dozens of times that I can't even behave like a proper _governess_ – what kind of _Baroness_ would I be? And besides," the words rushed out of her, before she could stop them, "_No _one can replace _her _in your heart."

Her hand flew to her mouth, as though she had gone too far. She knew what was coming next: he would withdraw, his face becoming remote and sad, his mood darker.

Instead, he surprised her with a tender half-smile. "You will be _exactly_ the kind of Baroness I want, Maria."

He sighed deeply before going on. "I've done a disservice, not only to my children, but to you, and yes, possibly, to Agathe, by turning her into some kind of icon. I . . . I loved her very much. She was, in every way . . .". His candid gaze did not leave Maria's face, even as he talked about his first true love. "She _was_ remarkable. Beautiful. Talented. Loving. But she is _not here_ anymore. It was you who helped me find her in my children, but that has also forced me to accept that she is gone. Her memory will always be with me, and in them. But she is _gone_, Maria. Please don't put her between us."

Her eyes filled with tears and she moved closer to him, her hand gently touching his cheek. They stood silently for a moment, gazing into each other's eyes, before she looked down, hesitating. "But . . . think of the scandal, what people would say. You are . . . And I'm not . . ." She gestured, first to the distance between them, and then her arm swept toward the villa, its lights twinkling in the distance.

She did not need to finish her thought for him to be able to read her expressive face, to understand. "Ah. I see. The title. The villa. The servants. The aristocracy. Not quite the life you expected." She nodded, watching for his reaction.

Again, Georg sighed, lifting his eyes to look over the lake. "Maria. The world is crumbling around us. No one knows better than I how fast the things we love can disappear. This . . . " – he gestured toward the villa – "this all very likely will all be gone before we know it. I fought to save Austria once and I failed; there is no hope of it this time. I was not able to save my wife. But I will _not_ give up, I will fight to keep my children safe, and the things I hold dear, and I need you by my side to be able to do that. " His gaze returned to her face; he took her hands in his, held them close to his heart.

"As for the aristocracy," he went on, grimacing, "at least until it withers away – well, it's not really that different from living at Nonnberg, do you see that? They're both institutions that stand for something we cherish, but they drive us mad with their silly rules." She nodded, remembering their conversation that afternoon on the terrace. "To me, it's a game. Don't worry about them. I've been playing their game for a long time. I'll help you. The children will help you."

She still could not make sense of it. He was talking as though it was simply a matter of resolving a few small details, as though together, they would reach a foregone conclusion. _I never planned to marry anyone, and certainly not . . . this is not happening to me. It is impossible! _Maria knew there was another enormous gap between them, one she barely knew how to explain to him. "I – there are things you do not know about me, things you do not understand. If you knew, then . . ." She was unable to finish.

He shook his head and smiled tenderly. "I know everything about you that I need to know. I am an _excellent _judge of character, haven't you heard that?"

Maria pulled away from him once more, wishing the gazebo had a corner where she could hide. Now it was her turn to pace, so that she didn't have to look at him. "You don't know anything about me." She swallowed and went on, speaking rapidly before she lost her nerve. "My parents never married. My father abandoned my mother. When she died, her brother took me in. He was a drunk. He beat me every Saturday night of my childhood until . . . until I was old enough that he got interested in something else from me. I fought him off. I _bit _him. I _kicked_ him. He dropped me at Nonnberg in a driving rainstorm with a note pinned to my coat, saying I was a fallen woman. And worse. I was eleven years old." The old feelings came rushing back as she told her story. Sudden tears blurred her vision, so she felt, rather than saw, him come close to her and take her into his arms. The comfort, the safety of his embrace were beyond words. She took a few long, shuddering breaths, until the tears stopped.

Only then did he speak. "I . . . I am glad you told me. But it does not change my mind, not one bit. It just makes me more grateful for this unlikely miracle. You will _never_ need to be afraid again. Not of anyone, not of anything." She felt surprisingly fragile in his arms, and he savored the way she clung to him. He struggled to conceal from her the boiling rage building inside of him at the thought of what she had endured.

Georg took a calming breath and looked out at the sky, knowing it always had the power to soothe him. The moon shone so brightly that it had turned everything silver, and a carpet of stars stretched over them. He squinted, surveying the heavens, and guessed, "It must be after midnight by now. It's a new day, darling, and I will confess that I would not want to live through another day like yesterday." He felt her, head tucked under his chin, nod agreement. She lingered in his arms, but he could feel the watchful tension in her body.

"Maria," he said lightly, stroking her hair. "I feel like the prince in one of Marta's fairy tales, slaying your objections, like dragons, one at a time: Elsa, Agathe, the Austrian aristocracy, your past. Do you know, when the Emperor knighted me, he declared that Austria had too many men of words and not enough men of action like me. He'd certainly revise his opinion if he'd heard me tonight! If I thought more words from me would convince you, I would stay out here talking until the snow piled up high all around us." He chuckled, but then his tone turned serious. "But now, darling, it is time to give me your answer."

Again, she nodded. She moved out of his embrace then, standing a few feet away, and faced him, considering him carefully, as though she were seeing him for the first time. The way she stood there , arms crossed quietly , her face pale as death but her gaze serious and wholly focused, she was hardly recognizable as the noisy bundle of life who had first invaded the villa months ago. He did not take his eyes off of her, did not say a word, but stood, alert, watching her face with curiosity.

Neither knew how long they stayed like that – it might have been a minute or an hour. Maria studied the man she had struggled to understand all summer, and let herself recall the feelings he had aroused in her. She weighed everything he had revealed there in the gazebo, and she took counsel with the girl who had wanted only to spend the rest of her life safe within the abbey. She reflected on the misery yesterday had brought. After a day of raw emotion, of constant turmoil, it was finally as though she could see clearly, as though everything fell into place, as though her soul was finally at peace. At last, she spoke, but only in a whisper: "Oh . . . can this be happening to me?"

Georg had seen hundreds of sunrises in his life, but none would ever match the way the way the light dawned in her clear blue eyes at that moment. Over the years to come, although he would see a thousand emotions written across her face, that light would never go out. Every bit of fear and doubt had vanished. He never knew what happened first – had he opened his arms to her, or had she flown to him? Either way, she was in his arms with a shout of joy, her arms around his neck, his hands tangling in her hair, bringing her face to his. Then his mouth was on hers, this kiss an answer to all their questions.

After years in which passion was something to be remembered, not felt, he could barely restrain himself. The tenderness he held toward her was quickly combined with something much more daring, but that he welcomed back into his life. He feasted on her mouth, on the soft skin of her neck, his hands moving under her sleeves to explore her shoulders, and down along the curves of her body. Georg was on fire, spurred on because, in her own clumsy but enchanting way, she met his every caress, unafraid, her body molded to his, her lips on any part of his face she could reach, her hands moving through his hair. He was called back to his senses only by her soft moan.

Determinedly, he pulled away from her, taking her arms from around his neck and holding her at arm's length. She looked at him apprehensively, as though she might have done something wrong, and he hastened to reassure her, with a grin. "I came out here tonight resolved to go slowly with you. So much for that! If we do not control ourselves, you will be my mistress before we know it." He winked.

Maria blushed, secretly delighted by the feelings racing through her, enchanted by the new Captain she had discovered: his ragged breathing, his disheveled hair, the way his eyes devoured her. She felt more alive than she had since their long-ago dance - as though his kiss revived her, as though she had drawn strength from him. "I'm not afraid, not exactly. " She giggled. "I feel as though I am very safe even though we are doing something quite, er, dangerous!"

He could not resist taking her back into his arms. Tracing her face with his lips, he whispered, "Why did you run away, really? And if you were so convinced I am some kind of _fiend_, then why did you come back?"

She shivered in his arms, closing her eyes against the memories, and tried to explain. "I never really believed you were – I think I always knew, in my heart, the kind of man you are. But, still, I was frightened. Terrified, actually."

"Frightened? Of me?" He raised his eyebrows in mock surprise.

"Not exactly," she said, slowly, as though figuring it out herself, although it was hard to concentrate on anything with his hands making gentle circles on her back. "I was frightened of _me_, I mean, of my feelings. Not only that I was falling in love with you . . ." She put her fingers to her lips for a moment. "But other things, things I never dreamed . . ." She ducked her head, embarrassed. She wondered how much he knew, if he could guess about the sensations rushing through her. "Can I ask you something?"

His arm dropped to her waist, and then a fraction lower, a tiny, unmistakable gesture of intimacy, a sign of what lay ahead for them. "Anything, darling. As long as you stay this close to me while you ask."

"Will it be . . . I mean, when . . . will it be a very long time until . . .?"

Georg grinned wickedly. "No more reluctant Baroness, I see?" His face turned serious. "Actually, it depends. Come, sit here next to me." He led her to one of the benches, keeping one arm firmly around her.

"Maria, I know it seems . . . odd to bring this up now. But there is something I want to ask you." He hesitated. "Do you want more children, or are the seven I've given you as a wedding present quite enough?"

She gasped, surprised. "That is quite a question for someone who, until a few hours ago, was prepared to spend her life in a cloister, but . . ." Her eyes shone with sudden tears, "Yes. Yes. I do! Already, I can't imagine it otherwise."

"Wonderful. Just as I hoped. But then," he spoke, carefully, "there _is _something to consider. If it were up to me, I'd marry you tomorrow. I'd whisk you to the mayor's office first thing in the morning, bribe anyone who stood in my way, and have you installed as my Baroness before lunch. But . . . if you want to play the game, we will wait two months, a month at least, and we will surround ourselves with chaperones every minute of that time. You will spend the last two weeks safely tucked away at Nonnberg, before you are mine" – his arm tightened around her – " _completely_, and _forever._ And then, no matter what happens after we are married, your reputation will be pure as snow, although mine is probably past redemption." He smirked.

Her face wore disappointment and confusion. Gently, he explained, "If we are married, if we are together right away, and we _are_ so blessed, then it could appear as though . . . as though we had . . ."

Mortified, she blushed fiery red. "I don't want that! I want to be with you, but I want to do the right thing, for the children, for us . . ." She sighed. "I have a lot to learn. I will put the time to good use."

"Maria – darling – you have not actually answered me, do you know that? One more time, before you distract me completely. Are you _sure_? About leaving the Abbey? About marrying a man twenty years your senior with seven impossible children, a man who may shortly be without a home or country?"

He waited for her answer, but she just stared at him, her eyes studying his face and occasionally drifting lower.

"Maria? Why do you stare at me that way?"

She laughed, delightedly. "Because I _can_. Because after an entire summer of having to deny what I feel, to hide it from you, I can have my fill! I may not be able to . . . to do everything I want to do right now, but you cannot stop me from looking!" Her eyes sparkled. "But yes. Yes! No matter what happens, I know now that there is nowhere I can be happy, or safe, unless you are there."

He took her hands in his and pulled her to her feet, and back into his arms. "And that is that! We did it. we _did_ it!" He shook his head in disbelief. "Who would have thought it?"

"There is one more thing, you know," she exclaimed.

He groaned, only half serious. "Maria, my love, there cannot possibly be anything else standing in our way."

"Mmm," she agreed. "But darling, still.. . . why don't we ask . . ."

They laughed together. "The children?"

THE END.

**Well, that is that, as several of the characters in this story would say. Thanks for sticking with this story, and thanks a million times over for the reviews, PMs, and reassurance from the TSOM Fanfic Facebook group. I hope you found the resolution of the cliffhanger believable, or at least not too obnoxious. I never liked the way the film Georg asked Maria if there was anyone he could ask permission of to marry her – anyone at all? - when he knows perfectly well there isn't, so I was happy to take control of Georg a little bit there at the end and rewrite him. I'm sad to end here - like many of you, I really want to know what happens between here and the wedding! But thankfully, we have a beautiful engagement story by one of my favorite authors developing right now. I will take a brief break to, um, take care of the rest of my life, but I will be back! I have a honeymoon fic next, probably but also some other stories brewing as well. And last but not least, the disclaimer: I don't own the Sound of Music and I wrote this only for my personal enjoyment.**


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